


Show Me How To Live

by imafriendlydalek



Series: Show Me [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Identity Porn, M/M, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Iron Man 1, Secret Identity, Tony is 18 (at the beginning. he gets older. people do that...), eventually lines up with Iron Man 1 (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3795409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has moved on since Captain America went into the ice, Steve had been told by his handler at SHIELD, an agent he knows only as Sitwell. Genetic modification of humans is very much forbidden by international law, and with the country already embroiled in war, Captain America has to remain hidden.<br/>It’s 2005 and Steve is back at art school, this time in Boston. At an event that involves melting metal, he sees a pair of familiar eyes. As they get to know each other, Steve and Tony also learn the truth behind the lies they have been told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Iron Pour takes place each fall semester and it is quite the spectacle, Steve has been told. He’s been wanting to go since he first heard about it when he started back at art school two years earlier, but his situation has conspired against him both times. Flyers appeared all over campus weeks ago heralding “THE FIERY EVENT OF THE YEAR” and he was determined not to miss it this year.  
The happening is underway when he and Pepper arrive. The courtyard is filled with music from various local bands and other art students have their work on display at tables around the perimeter. The two of them wander along, stopping at the occasional table to take a closer look at the artwork, when Steve catches sight of Dan. He really does not want to talk to Dan.

“Hey, I'm going to go get a soda,” he says to Pepper, anxious to get away. “Do you want anything?”

“No thanks,” Pepper says without looking up from the prints on the table that she is rifling through. “I'll wait here.”

“Yeah, I’ll find you,” he says and turns in the other direction. A stand near the entrance had been selling refreshments.

He’s nearly there when his phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket to check the screen. It’s Dan. He hits the ignore button angrily and - _ooof!_ \- collides with someone. 

“Oh shoot, I’m so sorry!” Steve apologizes, disentangling himself and reaching down to pick up his phone and the bottle of soda that the guy he crashed into had dropped.

“Don't worry about it, man.” The guy shrugs, and as Steve looks up, his eyes meet a pair of dark brown eyes that seem eerily familiar. 

“Hi. Do I know you?” Steve asks, handing him the bottle.

“I doubt it. I get that a lot, though,” he says, running his free hand through his already tousled hair. 

Steve tries to shake the thought. It’s hardly the first time he’s encountered someone who looks just like a person from his former life, after all. He’s called the captain of the Ultimate Frisbee team Dugan accidentally plenty of times (though in his defense, the names Devin and Dugan are similar enough to switch up even if he didn’t look just like an old friend). It’s probably just his brain clawing at anything remotely familiar, trying to give this new world some context. “So you don’t go here, do you?”

The guy chuckles and flashes a grin. “Nope, not really the artsy type.”

“Oh.” Steve isn’t sure if he should be offended, though there doesn’t seem to be a judgmental tone to his voice, just a matter-of-fact statement.

“But I’m always down for a good iron pour,” he adds with a grin.

Steve laughs. “It really is something…”

His grin widens. “Yeah, it sure is something,” he repeats, a slight emphasis on the last word. 

Steve feels his face flush and ducks his head. He’s not sure what to make of the guy, but he finds himself not wanting to leave. Behind them, the music grows louder and the crowd starts to cheer.

The other guy takes a long gulp from his soda. Steve catches himself staring when he speaks again. “This your first time at one of these?”

“Yeah. I’d heard about it before but I’ve never made it to one until now. I usually have to work,” he adds, then grimaces internally at his own awkwardness.

“Well then, come on,” he says, grabbing Steve’s wrist and dragging him towards the fire. “Let’s go get a closer look.”

“I have to find Pep-” Steve starts, but his words are drowned out by the crowd as three people in what look like HAZMAT suits walk into the center carrying a large smoking pot. The music grows louder and louder, the bass thumping in his chest, as they walk to one of the fires burning in the circle. Just as the drums crash, the fire erupts in bright white sparks, molten iron flying in all directions. The crowd cheers - some scream in surprise. 

Steve feels a nudge against his shoulder, the other guy leaning into his side. “Well?” he asks with an impish grin. “Worth taking the night off for?”

“Yeah. Wow. That was incredible.” It’s the fire that’s making him feel so warm, Steve tells himself, and not the way the other guy is leaning into his shoulder.

“Melted metal. Never gets old. God I love it,” he gushes, his gaze fixed on the spectacle again. Steve can’t tell if it’s the flickering light, but the guy’s eyes seem to be dancing as he watches the sparks fade. His lips are curved up with a hint of a smile.

“That’s a surprise,” Steve teases, “coming from someone wearing a Backstreet Boys shirt.”

His eyes widen and he quickly looks down at his shirt. “Aw crap. Rhodey sneaks these things into my closet. Thinks he’s funny… I really need to remember to not wear this in public. Or, you know, burn this shirt. I could just throw it on the fire over there. Except it’s a bit cold to go topless. And maybe not the venue for that.” He shrugs.

A flicker of jealousy at the mention of a guy he shares a closet with surges through Steve, quickly crowded out by the idea of him without the shirt on. Steve fights back both thoughts. He’s usually better at keeping these things in check. When did that change?

“Oh my god, Steve, where have you been - oh, hi.” Pepper appears suddenly, her words cutting off when she sees the other guy.

“Sorry, Pepper, I got, um, sidetracked.” Oh god, he feels himself blushing again. “Um, Pepper, this is -”

“Tony,” the other guy finishes, extending her his hand and a flashy grin. “Good to meet you.”

“Yeah, uh, yes, hi, you too.” She’s acting strange, her usual confidence gone.

“Sorry for monopolizing your guy,” the guy - Tony - says.

“Oh, he’s not-”

“Oh, she’s just-” they interject at the same time.

Tony laughs. “Well, glad that’s cleared up. In that case, Pepper, would you be kind enough to give me your _friend_ Steve’s number? It’s just, I’m too shy to ask him myself.” He’s looking at Steve, their eyes locked, as he hands Pepper his phone.

“Yes, definitely.” She types the numbers in and hands it back. “Don’t make him wait too long, though, or he’ll get whiny.”

Steve shoots her a glare, but Tony grins again. “Thank you, Pepper. I will try not to disappoint. It was good to meet you. And you, Steve - try not to work too much.”

With that, he turns and Steve watches as he disappears into the crowd.

Pepper is staring at him when he looks back at her. “Steve, please tell me you know who that was.”

“Um, Tony? We just met. He doesn’t go to MassArt.”

Pepper laughs. “No, no he doesn’t. You know what, never mind. If he calls, I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. Come on,” she says, turning on her heel and heading towards the exit of the courtyard.

Women had long confused him, and Pepper more than most. He shrugs away the thought and jogs after her.

***

Steve finds himself having a very hard time focusing on the still life in front of him that he’s supposed to be drawing. His mind keeps returning to yesterday evening, those strangely familiar eyes, his confident and cocky smile, the fleeting touch of his hand on Steve’s arm that had sent all of Steve’s synapses firing.

Almost three years had passed since he had woken up out of the ice and found himself at the start of a strange new century. The first months had been the most difficult - the flood of new information, technology, customs, things, coming to terms with all he had left behind and adjusting to his new lot in life. The world had moved on since he went into the ice, he’d been told by his handler at SHIELD, an agent he knew only as Sitwell. Genetic modification of humans was not only no longer being pursued, in fact it was very much forbidden by a multitude of international laws. Captain America had to remain hidden - if word were to get out that he was still alive, Sitwell had explained, it would unleash a maelstrom of international “situations.” Just a few weeks before he’d awoken, the country had been attacked and now it was at war once again. Those words had thrummed in his ears - had mankind not learned anything in those seventy years?

He had spent those months hidden away in his tiny room in the SHIELD barracks, haunted by his past and the inescapable feeling that there was no place for him in the future. It was if no one knew what to do with him, just like after Dr. Erskine was killed, so they left him to just while away the days. There had been times he had contemplated just ending it all, but then he had remembered his promise to Erskine.

So he kept to himself, wandering the less frequented halls and retreating to the roof to sketch quietly during the day, to the gym at night when no one else was there. He went through a lot of heavy bags. He read his way through most of the SHIELD library, especially the novels and history books, and sometimes a week would pass before he spoke to another person.

The day they had finally agreed to let him live out in the world had been the brightest day in those months of gray. They had bigger things to worry about and apparently they had become convinced that he could live quietly enough not to make trouble.

“You are being placed on special reserve duty,” Sitwell had explained. “You will be granted a military pension and your previous service to this country entitles you to the benefits of the G.I. Bill. You will report to me in person every three months and by telephone each month. You will maintain a low profile; you will not disclose to anyone your true history. Make a life for yourself, Captain Rogers, maybe find a girl who doesn’t ask a lot of questions and settle down out in the suburbs.”

The blood was rushing so quickly through Steve’s ears as Sitwell spoke that it almost drowned out his voice. He flexed his hands, forced himself to maintain a blank face.

Sitwell pushed a folder across the table towards him, stopped halfway and fixed his gaze. He clearly expected Steve to reach for the folder, but Steve refused to give him that.

“You have no idea what it took to get them to agree to this, Rogers. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, his jaw set.

He’d been dismissed with simple instructions - think about what you want to do, decide where you want to live and keep your head down. Oh yeah, and we might call you back in if we need you.

When he finally got back to his quarters with the door firmly locked, he finally let Sitwell’s words sink in. He’d been given his life back, mostly. The weight he’d been carrying since he’d woken was suddenly lifted from him, and for the first time, he allowed himself to cry. They were tears of joy for what he was being given (the opportunity to actually live), tears of anguish for what he wasn't going to be given (his free will), tears of sorrow for what he had lost (for Bucky and the other Commandos, for Erskine, for all the other soldiers who had fallen after them).

He didn’t have to think for long about what he was going to do with his newfound freedom (even if he was still shackled, at least he was free). He’d enjoyed his time at art school before everything else had happened, and now he had the means to finish his degree.

New York was too overwhelming for him, though. It had changed so much, but not enough to keep him from feeling like the past was lurking around every corner. Plus that was where Sitwell was based, and he had to put more space between himself and SHIELD. He had chosen Boston, in the end, because it seemed a bit more rooted in the past, like the Brooklyn he’d grown up in.

Art school had taught him more about life in the twenty-first century than anything he’d encountered while he’d been hidden away at SHIELD, Sure, SHIELD had things like satellite tracking and lasers, but art school had graphic design (using computers!) and iron pours and sports like Ultimate Frisbee (which Steve really enjoyed) and a group called the LGBT Association, whose table Steve had gone over to at the Student Fair because they offered free cookies and had walked away from hours later understanding himself a lot better.

“Mr. Rogers, perhaps you might consider drawing more than just the background.” 

His professor’s words pull him out of his thoughts. He blinks at the page in front of him, black from broad streaks of charcoal. Oops. He grabs his eraser and sets to work rubbing the shapes out of the blackness.

“I’m, um, trying my hand at erasings,” he fumbles for words.

“While I commend trying out new techniques, I might remind you that this is a drawing class and suggest you stick to that for now.”

He feels his face flush and ducks behind his drawing pad, turning to a new page. “Yes, sir.”

***

Steve is halfway through his morning run when his phone rings. Four days have passed since the iron pour and he had been hoping to get a call from Tony over the weekend, but by Sunday evening he had written it off. 

So when he flips his phone open to accept the call, he doesn’t bother to look at the screen - only Pepper ever calls him at this hour.

“Hey Pep, good morning.”

There’s a brief silence at the other end before a male voice speaks. “First off, there is no such thing as a good morning, especially on a Monday, and second, I am not Pepper, and third, I really hope that doesn’t mean you are going to friendzone me as hard as you friendzoned your poor friend Pepper the other day.”

Oh crap. He’d stopped dead in his tracks as soon as Tony had started speaking, forcing a runner behind him to stop short. The runner ducks around him and shouts a string of expletives at Steve as he passes.

“Am I interrupting something? I would ask if now is a bad time, but that’s redundant because any time before noon is a bad time, but I figured I’d have a better chance at catching you now than later when you might be busy working.”

“Tony, hi,” Steve finally manages, his voice wavering. “Uh, sorry, I was running, and then I stopped, and someone almost crashed into me.”

“Oh god, running? This early in the morning? I’d be cursing too!”

“I always go running at this time of day. Helps me get the day going.”

“Well, hats off to you, man. I’m tired just thinking about it. Geez, please tell me you’re not one of those uber health-conscious meatheads who only drinks green smoothies or - even worse - doesn’t drink coffee.” Steve can actually hear Tony cringe as he says it.

He can also feel his ears go red. “No, I drink coffee. Though green smoothies aren’t too bad either,” he adds with a grin.

Tony groans on the other end of the line. “Well I would be happy to take you out for a cup of coffee, but if you come anywhere near me with anything with wheatgrass in it, we’re over, baby.”

Maybe he’s just flushed from running, Steve tells himself, that’s why his ears feel so hot. He knows it’s a lie, but surely a guy he only met once can’t make him feel this out of sorts. “Coffee sounds great. I’ll even skip the soy milk.”

Tony laughs. “Excellent. Just what I wanted to hear. You free at around eleven?”

“Uh, I have class until quarter after and another at 12:30.”

“Well, guess I’ll just have to trek out to you then. I know a nice place nearby called Jolt. Meet me there?”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Bye Steve. And try not to trip any more runners.”

“Bye To-” Steve starts to say, but Tony has already hung up.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stumbled across the concept of an iron pour and thought "that is definitely up Tony's alley." This is what happened.
> 
> The title is from an Audioslave song, because Tony a generation later would totally be into post-grunge.
> 
> Chapter 2 is mostly ready to go, I'll try to get it up in a few days. It looks now like it might be 6 or 7 chapters in total. This is my first longer work, so nice comments are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos! I appreciate it a lot.  
> Have some fluff ;-)

“Mmmmm, sweet nectar of the gods,” Tony moans, clutching his mug. It’s just obscene enough to make Steve blush. They’re sitting at a table on the patio of the coffee shop - it’s a warm day for late September, and outdoor seating has to be savored as long as possible in New England. Tony is hunched over the table as if proximity to the mug will help him absorb the caffeine faster. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his hair is as tousled as it had been when they met. Dark lines have formed under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept much.

“Do you and your mug need some privacy?”

That earns him a laugh. “You’re funny. I like that. But coffee is no joking matter, Steviebear.”

“Wow, Steviebear, really? I’m not sure that’s an accurate assessment.”

“I'm going to let that slide because I am busy having a moment with my mug. But when that's over, I will probably come up with a far more outrageous name for you that will make your ears go even more deliciously red.”

 _Oh oh_ , Steve thinks as he feels his ears get hotter.

“Aw, there it is. Didn't even need to get creative,” Tony says with a wicked grin and takes a long sip of his coffee.

“If I'd known you were this evil, I would have made up a fake class I need to get to.” Steve folds his arms across his chest with a mock frown.

“Rule number one they teach us at Harvard Business School,” Tony says, making a show of dabbing at his mouth with his napkin and rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, “is never let on how evil you are.”

“Okay, you definitely do not go to Harvard Business School.”

“How do you know? I could go to Harvard Business School.”

“Well they definitely don’t teach that there. And that I know because Pepper goes there.”

“Aw crap. So much for my secret identity.” He huffs in indignation.

“Plus no one at Harvard Business School gets that excited about melting metal.”

Tony laughs. “Well you’re right on that one. Buncha squares.”

Steve crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “I also know you don’t go to Harvard Business School because I saw an MIT student ID in your wallet when you paid for the coffee. Which, by the way, thanks for.”

Tony smiles and runs a hand through his hair, looking up at Steve. “Curses, my secret identity has been unfoiled. Do they also teach intelligence gathering at the College of Art and Design?”

A response catches in Steve’s throat. Had he let something slip? “Nope,” he manages, “that’s just me being astute.”

“Ooooh, smart and gorgeous. Just what I look for in a guy.”

His face flushes. _My ears must be beet red_ , Steve thinks.

Tony is grinning. “You truly are adorable.” He drains the rest of his coffee and stands up. “Come on, sugar pie, you have class soon and I need to get back to the lab, code should be done compiling by now. Project due this week. My math awaits. I’ll leave your poor red ears in peace for today.”

Before Steve can reply, he continues. “But you have to promise to meet me for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“I- I can’t tomorrow. I have to work. There’s a new show opening at the museum next week, so it’s all hands on deck until then,” he says as he follows Tony out of the coffee shop. 

“Well then I will show no mercy, peaches,” Tony says with a grin and presses his lips against Steve’s. 

His mouth is warm, the taste of coffee lingering on his lips. All Steve can manage is a muffled _Hmmmph_ in surprise. 

It’s over as quickly as it began, just a quick peck, but enough to leave Steve dazed and speechless. 

Tony looks at Steve’s ears and smiles. “Awesome,” he says. “Spectacular. Come on,” he gestures towards campus, “I’ll walk you to class.”

***

“Sooooo, has he called?”

Steve is leaning out over the edge of the platform of the scissor lift, screwing hooks into the museum’s ceiling. The upcoming show calls for gigantic unstretched canvasses to be hung from the ceiling; it will undoubtedly look impressive in the end, but it was proving to be a logistic nightmare for the art installers. 

“Geez, Pep, can you please not sneak up on me when I am thirty feet up in the air?” he murmurs, sticking the screwdriver between his teeth to turn the hook by hand. It’s been three days since they met for coffee and he hasn’t heard from Tony since. That fact has been on his mind more than he’s entirely comfortable with.

“I don’t think I have ever managed to sneak up on you before, Steve, especially not in these shoes on this marble floor. Something on your mind?” she teases.

“Yeah, like trying to keep my balance…” he says around the screwdriver. “Don’t you have somewhere to be that isn’t distracting me, like maybe your own desk?” At the same moment, his phone dings to alert him of a text message.

“Is it him?” Pepper calls up. When did she develop such good hearing?

He ducks back onto the platform and checks his phone. A smile spreads over his face when he sees who it’s from.

**whatcha up to Steven? let me guest - u r wokring?**

_He clearly isn’t too bothered with spell checking_ , Steve muses as he types out his reply.

**Yes, Anthony, I am working. I am currently on a crane 20 feet above the ground.**

Tony’s reply comes just a few seconds later.

**O baby I love it when u talk tech to me. when are u done?**

Steve can’t help but smile as he pushes the button to bring the lift platform back down to the ground.

**At six.**

**perfect. meet me at Brantfords in Cambridge at 730**

It clearly isn’t a question.

“What’s he saaaaying?” Pepper needles, trying to peek at his screen when Steve steps off the lift.

 **Sure.** Steve replies. He turns to Pepper with a smile. “Looks like I have a date this evening.”

By five-thirty, he’s finished putting in all the hooks so that the canvasses can be hung the next day, so he packs up his tools and heads towards the museum offices to let his boss know. As always, he swings through the main exhibition space to pass by his favorite pieces. This is best part of the job, he thinks, getting to spend the days surrounded by artwork.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

He turns to look at the source of the voice; her vivid red hair is striking enough to make his throat close up. He coughs slightly. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Sorry, you look like you work here.” Her eyes drift to the employee badge hanging on its lanyard around his neck. “Could you tell me where the gift shop is?”

“Um, yes, of course. It’s back this way-” he points down the corridor “-just before the exit.”

She smiles. “Great. I want to get a postcard of this one. It’s my favorite.”

“It’s one of my favorites too. Enjoy the rest of your visit,” he says as he continues to the offices.

***

This is hardly the first date Steve has been on this century, but for some reason he’s a lot more nervous than on any of the previous ones. He takes a deep breath and exhales sharply as he opens the door to the restaurant, trying to repress his emotional turmoil. The hostess greets him with a warm smile.

“I’m meeting a friend?” he tells her hesitantly.

“I think he’s waiting at the bar.” She smiles again and gestures towards the left. 

Tony is sitting near the end of the bar, a mostly empty glass in front of him, tapping furiously on his phone. He’s wearing faded black jeans and a black button-down shirt, his jacket slung haphazardly over the back of the stool. Steve sucks in a breath as Tony looks up and grins at him. That grin - something in him flutters every time.

“Hi you. Did you rob a J. Crew on the way here?”

Steve blushes and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Does it sound terrible if I admit that Pepper insisted on dressing me? She can be very... insistent.”

She had picked out a pair of khakis and a dark blue sweater over a grey button-down shirt. He smooths the fabric of his sweater idly.

Tony laughs softly. “Let me rephrase. You look great. Spectacular. Delectable. Like every guy I ever fantasized about at the tennis club my mother used to drag me to. Please always have Pepper dress you if this is the result. And also please never stop blushing. Come on, let’s get a table.”

The hostess leads them to a booth in the corner and asks for their drink order.

“You drink beer?” Tony asks Steve. 

He nods.

“Excellent.” Turning to the hostess, Tony mimes a large container with his hands. “We’ll have a pitcher of your home brew.” After she’s left, he explains “They have a micro-brewery out back. Some of the best beer in Boston.”

“Oh. I don’t go out much. In this part of town,” he adds hastily.

Tony smiles. “Not a native Bostonian, then?”

Steve laughs. “No, moved here for school.”

“Where’s home, then?”

 _Gone_ , he thinks. “Here,” he answers, “but I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“A Noo Yawka, huh?” Tony says with a terrible approximation of a Brooklyn accent.

“That was terrible, Tony,” he says with a laugh, “don’t do that again. Ever.”

“Sahrry. Nope, not sorry.” He grins. “I’m allowed - I grew up in Manhattan. Even worse: I was born on Long Island.”

“That’s not even remotely the same thing,” Steve deadpans.

Tony scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, not really. So what’s your major? MFA? Not metallurgy, I take it?”

“Uh, no. Just a BFA for now, actually. 2D Arts, drawing and painting mostly, but I’m also minoring in graphic design.”

A look of surprise flickers over Tony’s face. “You’re still in undergrad? You look older than most undergrads.”

“Yeah, I, uh, got a late start. I was in the military. Spent some time overseas.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Wouldn’t have pegged you for the army type. You seem like such a do-gooder.”

“Well, that’s why I joined the army. To do good.”

Tony lets out an almost inaudible _hmmph_ and looks down at his hands. 

“What about you? Bachelors of Science in Melting Metal?” Steve asks with a cocked smile. 

“Funny. Dual Masters in Mechanical Engineering and Electrical Engineering, actually.” He seems a little annoyed at the insinuation, which Steve immediately feels guilty about. “Working on a PhD proposal too.”

Steve must have been staring in disbelief because Tony adds with an equally cocked smile and a shrug “I got an early start.”

Luckily their waitress appears with their drinks, diffusing the moment. “Here you go,” she says, setting down the pitcher between them. “My name’s Corinne, I’ll be your server tonight. You guys ready to order?”

“I’ll have the mac and cheese,” Tony says without having even opened the menu. Steve quickly grabs the menu in front of him and scans it.

“Sure thing. You want that with bacon?”

“Um, yes, definitely. Always with bacon.”

“And for you?” she asks, turning to Steve.

“Uh, I’ll have a cheeseburger?” Steve replies hesitantly. “With sweet potato fries, please.”

“No bacon?” Tony asks with a wink.

“No bacon,” Steve winks back.

“Alright, I’ll get that in right away. Let me know if you need anything else - or if you change your mind about the bacon,” Corinne adds with a wink and heads off.

“No bacon…” Tony shakes his head in disbelief as he pours beer into both glasses, pushing the first over to Steve. “Cheers.” He lifts his glass.

“Thanks. Cheers.” Steve takes a careful sip. “Oh, this is good.”

“Of course it is. I have done extensive research into the subject of beer in the greater Boston metropolitan area and this is empirically one of the finest.”

They fall into conversation easily, Tony telling stories from his “research” as well as his actual research. Steve finds that he really likes listening to him talk. All Tony needs is a topic and he sets off, talking a mile a minute and straying to three completely unrelated topics before getting back to the original point. He slows only somewhat when their food arrives.

“Oh yeah,” he groans after his first forkful of macaroni, “this is definitely the best mac and cheese in New England.”

“Have you done empirical research on that as well?” Steve stares at his burger contemplatively, not sure how to pick it up without spilling half of it on himself.

“Ha, no. That was an entirely un-peer reviewed statement. The only other mac and cheese I’ve ever had comes from a box and my stupid robot keeps burning it.”

“Your - you have a robot?” Steve asks in disbelief.

Tony nods as if it were the most normal thing in the world, not bothering to look up from his attempt to pick out all the bacon bits so he can eat them first.

“You have a robot that cooks macaroni and cheese?”

“No, I have a robot that _burns_ macaroni and cheese. But I guess it’s no surprise. I can’t cook mac and cheese, and I built him, so it would be kinda strange if he could.”

“You built a robot?”

He looks up at Steve. “Yeah, like two years ago.” He shrugs and turns his attention back to his plate. “Needs some tweaking, though.”

“Wow,” Steve mutters into his glass as he takes a sip of beer. “But then I guess there’s one thing I can do that you can’t. Make real mac and cheese, from scratch.”

“There’s a lot you can do that I can’t. Like I could never pull off those khakis. It’s like you were sculpted specifically for them. And draw. Can’t do that worth a damn. Wait, did you say you can make mac and cheese from scratch?”

Steve nods.

“Oh my god, marry me.” Steve feels his ears go red, but Tony continues. “Seriously. Or just come live in my kitchen and never leave. Why do you know how to cook?”

“Had to learn. I was home alone a lot, as a kid. My mom raised me on her own, mostly. My dad was killed in action before I was born. That’s part of why I joined the army. But she died too, when I was 14, so after that I lived with a friend’s family. They had a lot of kids, so I helped with the cooking.”

Tony was suddenly serious. “Fuck, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Steve shrugs. “It was a long time ago. How about you? Where’s your family?” 

“Bayview Cemetery. They died a few months ago.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. How awful.” 

“Yeah, well. It is what it is. Car crash. Dad was probably too old to be driving. And probably too drunk. Guess that makes us a pair of orphans.” He raises his glass and tips it towards Steve.

Steve frowns. “Guess so.”

Tony takes a long sip of his drink, then sets the glass back down and lays his hand over Steve’s. “Hey, enough being serious. Let’s get out of here, go have some fun.” 

He sucks in a breath at the touch and feels a smile spread across his face. “Yeah, let’s.”

As he gets up, Tony deposits a large wad of bills on the table, waving his hand when Steve moves to get out his wallet, and leads him out onto the street.

“There’s a place up the road that usually has pretty good live music. Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

Tony is looking at him as if searching for something. Steve feels his ears redden and he looks down at the pavement.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?” He glances up and meets Tony’s gaze.

Tony leans close and kisses him lightly on the cheek, brushing his hand over Steve’s. “Smile.”

And Steve does.

The bar is crowded with people who have come to see the band that’s playing that evening. It’s one of the more well-known local bands - Steve saw them play at a student event a few months ago. Tony takes Steve’s hand as he leads the way towards the less-crowded back of the bar. A number of people call out greetings to Tony as they move through the bar.

“They sure seem to know you around here,” Steve remarks when they’ve settled at the last open table.

Tony flashes him a grin. “A bar in Cambridge that doesn’t check IDs too carefully? Of course they know Tony Stark.”

The name startles him. Stark? Could it be? He watches him as he speaks, the wild gesticulations. The impish grin. The slight hunch in his shoulders from too many long nights bent over a workbench. Those eyes. 

There’s no denying it.

“... which is what I was trying to tell them in the first place, but no one ever -” Tony stops mid-sentence. He must have noticed Steve staring. He smiles and leans over, nudging Steve with his shoulder. “You just figured out who I am, didn’t you? 

“Yeah. I mean - Stark Industries Tony Stark?” 

Tony flashes that overly brash grin he’s seen Tony use when he’s trying to impress new people. It seems put on, like a mask he hides behind. Steve prefers the other grin. “The one and only.” 

“Well, that does explain the robot.”

Tony laughs. “Hey, sorry if this is weird for you. People usually know who I am, so I thought you did too, and then when I realized that you didn’t, I thought it might be nice to get to know each other without any preconceived notions. It’s not often I meet someone who isn’t just after the Stark name.” 

The flashy grin is gone and when their eyes meet again he looks so… vulnerable.

This is probably a terrible idea. He should go home, get out before this turns into something that could get him in trouble with SHIELD. But somehow he can’t bring himself to do so. What’s the point in having this new life if he can’t actually live it? Screw caution, Steve thinks and takes Tony’s face in both hands as he kisses him, firmly. Tony lets out a muffled squeak before pushing more closely against Steve. Tony’s tongue darts out, edging Steve’s lips open; his hands tangle in Steve’s shirt, clutching at the fabric.

“Well, glad we’ve got that sorted,” Tony says with an impish smile when they finally pull away from each other.

They stay to watch the rest of the band’s set, conversation made somewhat difficult by the noise level. Tony clearly has trouble not talking for longer stretches and leans in close to talk into Steve’s ear. His warm breath on his neck sends shivers down Steve’s spine; the press of his knee against his thigh gives off a welcome warmth that soothes his lingering nervousness. 

It’s late when they leave the bar. “Shoot,” Steve says when he checks his watch. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to run if I want to make the last train.”

“You know, I live like less than two miles from here…”

Steve smiles and kisses him on the cheek.

“Yeah, you don’t strike me as ‘that kind of guy’,” Tony says, making air quotes with his fingers.

“An accurate assessment,” Steve says with a smile. He lifts Tony’s chin and places a chaste kiss on his lips. “Good night, Tony. Thanks for dinner.” With that, he turns and takes off at a jog towards the T station.

“Good night!” he hears Tony call after him. 

***

It almost certainly is a terrible idea, he reflects on the train to New York to make his quarterly report to Sitwell. He’s supposed to be keeping his head down, staying out of trouble. Setting aside for a moment the fact that Tony is the son of Howard Stark and the potential ramifications of Tony finding out about their shared history, dating the heir to one of the largest companies in the country, possibly the world, is hardly the best way to stay out of the limelight. Tony’s name shows up in the press regularly - in hindsight, Steve is surprised that he hadn’t connected the dots earlier - and, if their whatever-it-is-or-could-be continues, eventually his might as well. Sure, Steve Rogers is one of the more common names in America, and if anyone ever did think to connect it to a Steve Rogers who had fought in World War II (of which he also hadn’t been the only one) it could easily be passed off as a tabloid sensationalist hoax, but his current existence hangs by the thread of Sitwell’s benevolence. Anything could pull it all down at any point, and Tony is a lot more than just _anything_.

Tony is, well, Tony. He’s brilliant and compulsive, unabashed and unfiltered, compelling, intriguing and inspiring. In the few times they’ve been together, Steve had felt more alive than he ever had since he’d woken up, maybe even before that. And isn’t that the point?

So that’s what he is going to do, he decides. He’s going to fight for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should point out that in this chapter, a stupid guy says some not-nice things. Unfortunately there are still a lot of people out there that think that way, and it would be nice if we all had a Steve Rogers to stick up for us. (Actually it would just be nice in general if we all had a Steve Rogers.)

Over the years, his reports to SHIELD have become a fairly rehearsed rigmarole. Sign in, sit in the waiting area for half an hour. Blood tests, physical exam, fitness assessment. Fill out a written report of his activities in the past three months (make sure it syncs with what he’s been telling Sitwell on the phone). Sit in the waiting area again until summoned by Sitwell, who always claims to have just gotten out of a meeting that went long. Watch as Sitwell flips through his medical chart and written report. Answer Sitwell’s questions - always eight questions, not always the same questions, but always eight. Questions about his classes, sometimes about sports, whether he’s seeing anyone (he had made up a girlfriend one time, but had “broken up” with her again by the next meeting). One question is always an attempt to trip him up, to catch an inconsistency with his written report. It never works, though - he spends the night before composing his report and memorizing it, so by the time he regurgitates it onto paper at SHIELD it’s so second nature to him that it almost could be true. He used to be riddled with anxiety before these meetings, but now he knows exactly what to expect and how to keep them from finding out what he doesn’t want them to know. He skirts around anything actually important that is going on in his life, giving Sitwell just enough information to keep him placated without really telling him anything. It helps that Sitwell isn’t the brightest in the agency. Steve might have been offended that they hadn’t thought highly enough of him to assign him a better handler, but it serves his purposes just fine. Someone more ambitious would make his life far more complicated. 

“Well, sounds like you’re doing alright,” Sitwell always says as he gets up, then sends Steve out with a clap on the shoulder and a “Dismissed, soldier.” He hates every minute of it, but that dismissal most of all. It drips with condescension, and the little guy that Steve used to be would have [tried to] wipe that smirk off Sitwell’s face. But that was a long time ago, Steve reminds himself, a lifetime ago actually, and he’s had the fight knocked out of him. Now he lets it slide because it’s Sitwell who stands between him and the train back to Boston.

So he nods quickly in acknowledgement, slipping past Sitwell and out the door. That’s it for today; the same procedure again in three months.

***

He has seven messages when he dares to turn his phone back on once he’s finally settled on the train back to Boston.

**hi there! u busy tonight? my robot wants to meet u**

**steve! he burned the mac n cheese again. come make me some?**

**never mind, got hungry so I ordered chinese. but now you owe me.**

**sorry, that sounded needy and weird. im not creepy, i swear. i just want to see you again.**

**um, this is getting worse and worse. please put me out of my misery. just kill me now. or call me. either is good**

**oh god i need to stop but i cant stop. i blame u.**

**Brian is being an ass and I need a night out. Can I come over?** That one is from Pepper.

He taps out a quick reply to Pepper that he will be back in a few hours before dialing Tony’s number.

“He lives!” Tony answers.

“Yeah, sorry, I had to go to see my uncle. He makes me visit every few months.” He winces at the lie.

“Oh. So, um, I think some crazy person stole my phone and sent you a bunch of text messages. I don’t know what’s up with that. You can just go ahead and delete those. I definitely didn’t send them...”

“Nice try, Tony.”

“It was my robot?”

“Nope, still not buying it.” He hears a whine at the other end of the line. “But I would be happy to make you real food some time. I can’t today, though. Pepper seems to be having some sort of boy trouble.”

“Ugh, I know exactly how she feels. I went out with this gorgeous guy a few days ago and then I didn’t hear from him and I went a little psycho.”

“That sounds… problematic. Do you need someone to talk about it with? I have class until 5:20 tomorrow but I’m free after that.”

“Yes, please. I really want to say ‘Come over and I’ll show you my robot,’ but I think not even I can pull that off without sounding insane.”

Steve laughs, which makes the man in the seat across from him glare angrily. “I’m sure he’s a lovely robot, aside from his lack of culinary skills, and I would be happy to meet him tomorrow evening.”

***

“Uuuuugh, I hate men,” Pepper groans when Steve opens the door, practically falling into his apartment. She heads straight for his couch and flops onto it, face first.

“I’m sorry?” Steve replies hesitantly.

She sits up, a throw pillow clutched tightly. “Well not you, obviously. I mean, you don’t really count.”

“Gee, thanks?”

She chucks the pillow in his direction. “You know what I mean. You’re obviously not in my dating pool.”

“Oh, well, that is true. You’re way out of my league,” he says with a grin, tossing the pillow back to her. He goes to the kitchen and takes the two pints of emergency ice cream he keeps stashed for nights like this out of the freezer. He offers the one with the higher chocolate content to Pepper, who takes it gratefully. 

“See, this is why you are so perfect,” she says before digging in.

He listens quietly as she spills her sorrows, offering advice or “guy insight,” as she calls it, every so often. Pepper and Brian have been on-again-off-again since before Steve met Pepper a little more than a year ago. Every few weeks, Brian, a second-year law student at Harvard, decides that he needs to “focus on his coursework” (which Steve suspects means something very different, though Pepper refuses to believe it). Evenings like this one have almost become a ritual. He’s tried to convince her to leave him, but invariably Brian shows up again a week or so later, begging for forgiveness. So Steve keeps ice cream stocked, he listens, he tries to contain his anger at Brian and he offers Pepper a shoulder to cry on when she needs him.

“Oh geez, look at me,” she says, rubbing her eyes. She gets up and puts their empty cartons of ice cream in the trash. “Here I’ve gone and whined your ear off and haven’t even asked about your love life. How’s the boy wonder?”

“He’s not a boy, Pep, he’s eighteen. And I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was THE Tony Stark.”

“And spoil all the fun? What kind of friend would that make me?”

“Uh, the good kind? Have I ever hesitated to tell you what an ass Brian is? No. And has he ever been anything but? No. I thought that was part of the Friendship Pact.” He knows that she knows he’s teasing. Humor has always been the best way to defuse her moods.

“Nope, I don’t remember signing that.” She grabs the remote control and turns on the television. A re-run of Friends is on, so she leaves it and they sit curled up against each other, watching in silence.

His mind is racing. His visits to Sitwell always leave him drained and he had been hoping for a quiet evening alone, but his friend is more important. Sometimes he feels bad about keeping so much from Pepper. She’s his closest friend, maybe his only true friend, and probably the most important person in his current life (though Tony is also quickly wheedling his way up that list). She deserves better, but he also knows that not telling her keeps her safe. There are days, though, when he yearns to tell her everything, to have someone he can share his secrets with.

“I’m going to his place tomorrow evening,” he finally says. “He wants me to meet his robot.” 

“Wow, that is either incredibly weird or the worst euphemism I have ever heard.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, except Tony is probably one of the few people in the world who can honestly say that.”

“That is true.”

“Although I wouldn’t mind if it’s just a euphemism,” he adds with a wink. 

“Steven! You naughty boy. I didn’t know you had it in you!” She shoves his arm and then snuggles into it.

The next episode is one of the Thanksgiving episodes, which are Pepper’s favorites, and she eventually falls asleep on the couch. That, too, is part of the ritual - Pepper had already changed into the pajamas she keeps at Steve’s apartment for nights like this. Steve scoops her up and carries her to his bed, curls up around her and falls asleep quickly. 

****

Steve looks over his shoulder as he walks up to the security desk at Sigma Microtech Solutions the next day. Tony had instructed him to go to there and sign in. “They’ll tell you where to go,” he had said. The guard at the desk looks him over and gestures for him to follow. He leads Steve to the elevators, where he swipes his card and punches in a series of numbers. Steve feels his stomach tighten as a feeling of unease creeps in. Has he been found out? Will Sitwell be waiting for him in a windowless basement room, ready to lock him away for the rest of his days? His wariness eases somewhat as the elevator starts upwards. At least not a basement room, then... The buttons indicate eight floors, but the elevator continues up, stopping at the floor marked P. The doors slide open with a ding and Steve steps out into a wide open space. Two long rows of workbenches intersect at the far end of the space to form an L shape. Tony is sitting at the far end with his back to the elevator, typing furiously at his keyboard. His gaze is fixed on the enormous screen on the wall, which is displaying some form of schematics that shifts as Tony types. Steve watches in awe.

“Hey, come on in,” Tony says without turning around. “Beware of dummy. Just gimme one sec -”

A massive metal… arm? comes zooming over to Steve and pokes him in the shoulder. “Uh, hi there,” he says, reaching to poke the arm back.

“Dummy, don’t be needy,” Tony says, spinning around on his stool and crossing the open space towards Steve. He gives Steve a quick kiss before turning back to the robot. “Steve hasn’t run screaming yet after realizing what a trainwreck I am, so we’re gonna try not to scare him off just yet, okay Dummy?”

The robot moves its arm/face/thing up and down slowly as if it nodding and lets out a sound that Steve can only describe as a mechanical sigh. 

He covers his mouth with his hand to hide the look of disbelief and amusement on his face. “This is the famous robot, huh?”

“This is Dummy. We try to avoid using words like ‘famous’ around him because he might develop delusions of grandeur and start thinking that he is, I don’t know, competent or-” he addresses the robot with a scolding tone and pushes his index finger into its support strut “- not useless.”

Steve doesn’t quite manage to stifle a ‘Wow,’ which earns him a broad grin from Tony.

“So,” Tony says, spreading his arms. “Welcome to Casa de Stark. This is my workshop, living space is behind you.”

“But this is an office building…”

“Yeah, mostly. Sigma Microtech Solutions is a Stark subsidiary. Obie likes to keep a close eye on me, so it makes it easier to have me living on ‘company grounds,’ I guess.” There is a slight hint of bitterness in his voice. He continues with a shrug. “But hey, I have my own lab and I can raid the vending machines whenever I get a craving for Doritos. Which is, like, all the time.”

“Well, that makes it all worthwhile,” Steve says, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral. He knows too well what it’s like to live life on a short leash held by someone else. And though Tony handles his circumstances very differently than Steve does, he suspects that a large part of the airs Tony puts on in public are his way of rebelling against the role he has been forced into. Steve couldn’t have guessed all those years ago how his life would end up being what it is now, but at least he had made that choice himself: he had volunteered for the serum. It was never a choice for Tony. A line from Shakespeare comes to mind that some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them. As he watches Tony bantering with his robot, Steve can’t help but think that all three of those apply to him.

He leans against a table, arms folded across his chest, and a broad smile creeps across his face.

Tony looks up at him through his eyelashes and grins, which triggers a pang of emotion that courses through Steve. This guy is going to get him in so much trouble. And Steve finds that he doesn’t even care.

“Come on,” Tony says, “time for the tour.” He leads him into the living area on the other side of the wall that divides the penthouse. The kitchen looks like the only use it has ever seen is the coffee pot. What’s probably meant to be a dining table is strewn with textbooks and mechanical parts. Enormous sliding doors open (on voice command!) out to the rooftop, which offer a panoramic view of the city. The sun is just setting and the sky is lit up in an array of gold and orange.

“This is beautiful,” Steve muses. “Wow, kinda makes me wish I had my sketchbook.”

Tony smiles. “Guess you’ll just have to come back. Someone’s got to put this space to use - I hardly ever come out here.”

Steve looks out into the distance. Boats dot the far horizon, and closer in people are scurrying about on their way home. 

Tony steps closer to him, placing his hand on the small of Steve’s back. He kisses him lightly and smiles at him with a look of bemused admiration. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

Tony orders a staggering amount of sushi and they nestle together on the couch to eat. Their conversation comes easily, Tony darting in to steal pieces of sushi off Steve’s plate every so often (“Hey, you have the same one on your own plate!” “Yeah, but stolen fruit is always much sweeter.” “Oh yeah?” “Hey, no fair! You’re not allowed to steal too - you’re supposed to be the nice one!” “Says who?”) and gesturing enthusiastically as he tells Steve about his latest project.

“I started moving into artificial intelligence when I programmed Dummy. Obviously he’s proof that even I don’t get everything right on the first try, but I want to build a true AI that can actually help people in a real way. Like managing building controls or even self-driving cars - even if that takes all the fun out of driving, but maybe it’ll get some of the grandmas off the road. Dad sure could have used a self-driving car…” His voice trails off momentarily before he continues. “But anyway, Obie says I shouldn’t get distracted with side projects. Weapons tech is where the big money is, he says. The other stuff isn’t economical. I kinda don’t care, though. I mean, they say college is the time and place for everything, so I should at least do what I want now and then worry about boring grown-up shit like economies of scale later, right?”

A wild spark of enthusiasm lights up his face as he speaks, and Steve can’t help but feel swept up in it. He lays his plate down on the coffee table and leans in to Tony, holding his chin as he kisses him lightly. “You should do what makes you happy whenever you have the chance. Anyone who tries to make you do otherwise, well, you should think hard about whether you should really keep them in your life.”

Tony sighs. “Shit Steve, are you secretly one of those existentialist German philosophers? That’s pretty much the most adult advice anyone has ever given me. But I can’t exactly fire him. He kinda runs my company. I don’t even get to say anything about it until I turn 21.” 

After they finish dinner, Tony puts on a movie and curls up against Steve on the couch. They don’t actually watch much of the movie, though, because Tony soon busies himself with exploring Steve’s jaw line with his mouth. He unbuttons Steve’s shirt with nimble fingers and lets out a whine. 

“Oh my god, who wears a shirt under a button-down? What are you, like 80 years old? You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Before Steve can answer, Tony is in his lap straddling his legs and has somehow managed to get him out of both shirts. He gazes down at Steve as if he’s drinking in the sight. “Fuck, you’re hot! God, I kinda want to just stare at you all day. That wouldn’t be weird, would it? Yeah, it probably would.”

Steve smiles, feeling his face flush, and sucks in a sharp breath. A voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to stop this right now, to get out while he still can before things got out of hand. This can only end poorly, it tells him. But then Tony inches closer, trails his fingertips over Steve’s abs, sending a warm feeling flooding through Steve’s body. He’s never felt like this before, and he can’t imagine leaving it behind again. He’s already had to leave so much behind. 

Tony hooks a finger under the waistband of his pants, and that’s when Steve finally breaks the kiss and runs a hand through his hair. “Uh, I should probably mention that I haven’t really done this much before.”

Tony pulls back slightly and catches his gaze, his head cocked questioningly. “Define not much…” 

He scrunches his face. “Once or twice?”

Tony’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I just - I really like you, Tony, and I want to spend more time with you, like lots of more time, but I’m still pretty new to this whole dating guys thing, actually dating anyone, really, and things didn’t end so well the last time, so I think I just need a little time to figure this out.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We can - okay, ha, so I’m going to preface this by saying that I never say this, and just about anything the press has ever written about me will corroborate that, so this clearly means that there is something special about you, which don’t even get me started on what that is doing to my headspace, and ironically I am not just telling you how special you are just to get you in bed with me, but we don’t have to take this further right now.”

Steve feels his ears redden. “Thanks,” he manages.

The grin is back. “Can I keep kissing you though? Because damn, you are fucking hot, Steven, and I just don’t have that kind of impulse control.”

A hearty laugh escapes from Steve and he caught Tony’s mouth with his. 

“Oh thank god,” Tony murmurs when they came up for air.

They spend what feels like hours there, kissing, talking, watching TV in contented silence followed by more kissing. Steve is too happy and tired to care when he realizes that the last train is long gone and falls asleep easily curled around Tony in his ridiculously large bed.

Tony is sprawled out across the bed, his breaths coming in a stream of steady huffs, when Steve wakes up. He rolls onto his side to watch the younger man as he sleeps. In the background, he hears the coffee pot starting to brew. Every so often, Tony’s fingertips twitch as if he’s still coding, and Steve feels a smile creep across his face. _This is happiness_ , he realizes, and he lets the feeling in.

It’s the smell of coffee that wakes Tony. He stirs slightly, sniffing at the air, and is mid-stretch when his eyes open and he sees Steve next to him. A brief look of panic flashes in his eyes, followed by recognition and a wide smile. “Hmmm, hey you,” he purrs. “It’s not even my birthday and I still get to wake up to a gorgeous guy in my bed. And I didn’t even have to put out,” he adds with a grin.

Steve chuckles into Tony’s shoulder, brushing it with a soft kiss. “It gets even better. I think the coffee just finished brewing.” Steve moves to get up.

Tony lets out an almost obscene moan. “Hmm, this is the best day ever.” He props himself up onto his elbows, watching Steve walk towards the kitchen. “Hey, do me a favor, will you, and walk around my apartment in your boxers all day? Actually maybe lose the shirt too. Yes, definitely lose the shirt. That would be - oh my god, awesome.”

Steve returns with two mugs of coffee, holding one under Tony’s nose to shut him up. Tony grabs the cup and takes a long gulp, wincing only slightly at the burn. Steve sits on the edge of the bed and watches with a smile.

The urge to kiss Tony overcomes him, and he sets his mug down on the nightstand carefully. Tony whines when Steve takes his, but quiets as Steve leans in to press his lips against Tony’s. Tony reciprocates the kiss eagerly, his tongue darting out to find Steve’s, exploring his mouth. His hands are all over Steve, touching, exploring, tugging him closer. Steve lets himself be pulled closer, moves so he’s straddling Tony’s legs, and is rewarded with another happy whine. Tony’s erection is pressing against his hip and just that thought sends a wave of dizziness through him. He grinds into the friction, a soft moan escaping from the back of his throat.

“Oh my god, Steve,” Tony whimpers.

“Tony,” Steve gasps between kisses, his mind suddenly made up. “Remember what I said - last night - about needing time?”

Tony pulls back, puts his hands up and looks him in the eye. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Of course. All the time you need.”

“Fuck it.” He surges towards Tony, crashing into him with a kiss.

“You sure?” Tony mumbles against his mouth.

Steve nods and rolls them so Tony is straddling him. He runs his hands under the legs of Tony’s boxers, cupping his butt.

Tony smiles down at him with a devilish look. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

***

The leaves have started to turn, but the days are still pleasantly warm. Warm enough to hang out at The Fens after class, some classmates in Steve’s afternoon painting class had agreed, which is why Steve and Tony are sprawled out on a worn blanket on one of the open grassy areas with the rest of the group. Tony’s head is resting against Steve’s stomach as he types away on his laptop; the weight of his head is starting to get uncomfortable, but Steve is enjoying the relaxed proximity so he’s reluctant to shift. Next to him, his classmate Austin is telling a story about his backpacking tour of Europe last summer when a soccer ball drops into Austin’s lap.

“Oh!” Austin says in surprise and picks up the ball, spinning it in his hands.

A guy in cargo shorts, a wife-beater shirt and a trucker hat comes jogging over from the group that is playing on the other side of the field. He looks at their group and doesn’t say anything, just nods at the ball in Austin’s hands and holds out his hands to catch the ball.

“Hi there, hot stuff,” Austin drawls, “looking for something?”

“Can I get my ball back?” His tone is curt. Steve feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Tony sets aside his laptop and pushes himself up onto his elbows; Steve can see him balling his fists.

Austin draws a sharp breath, still tossing the ball from one hand to the other “Oh, the magnanimous friendly type, huh? Sure you can, if you ask nicely.”

“Just gimme my fucking ball back, you twink,” the guy snarls.

Steve sighs. There is no way he is going to let that stand. “Is there a problem here, guys?” 

The guy looks down at Steve, then glances over to Tony and huffs. “Yeah. Your little girlfriend over here won’t give me my ball back.”

Austin rolls his eyes dramatically and holds up the ball. “Oh my god, I don’t want your stupid ball, man. Thought you could take a joke, though. No need to be such a dick about it.”

“There you go. Now just take your ball and walk away.”

“Fuck you.” He spits on the ground just in front of Steve’s shoe.

Steve rocks back up on his heels and stands up slowly, consciously within the guy’s personal space, and straightens to his full height. The guy is almost as tall as him, but Steve definitely has a few pounds of muscle on him. He folds his arms across his chest and clenches his jaw. 

“Walk away now, buddy,” he repeats calmly, his voice low. He’s made SS commanders tuck their tails and run with that look, and this guy is certainly no different. 

“Fucking fags,” the guy mumbles as he turns and walks away.

Steve takes the soccer ball from Austin and kicks it at a tree, which it bounces off of and hits the guy square in the stomach. “You forgot your ball!” Steve calls after him.

When he turns back to his friends, they are all staring at him in astonished silence. 

Tony is the first to speak. “Damn, Steve, that was fucking terrifying. And hot. God I hope you never have to make that face at me.”

Austin hops to his feet, wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders and musses his hair. “My knight in shining armor!”

Steve just shrugs. “I don’t like bullies.” 

He looks back over his shoulder - he’s sure he saw that lady from the museum with the red hair just a second ago out of the corner of his eye - but she’s nowhere to be seen now.

The rest of the group crowds over to clap him on the shoulder. Steve hates the sudden surge of attention, but it feels good to have stood up against the bully. Just a few months ago, he would have stayed quiet, accepting the slur in lieu of causing a scene, but right now he can’t bring himself to worry about any potential ramifications. He stood up for his friend, which is all that really matters.

***

He’s still running on the emotional high of standing up for Austin a few days later when Sitwell calls for his monthly report.

“Report time, Rogers. How ya doing?” Always the same greeting, said in exactly the same tone of voice.

“I’m well, sir, and yourself?” Steve asks. He’s feeling bold and decides to change up their routine a little, which clearly throws Sitwell off.

“Uh, yes. Good. How’s school?”

“It’s great, sir,” he replies, using a far more effusive tone than he would generally. “I got an excellent grade on my history of modern art paper, the weather’s been nice and warm, I went out with some friends from class last Thursday, our frisbee team won last week, as did the Patriots, so I’d say it’s all good here in Boston.”

He’s just answered all of the questions Sitwell had lined up, leaving the agent flustered. And it feels oddly great. Which is why he decides to go one step further.

“Actually, on Thursday when I went out with my friends, there was this guy who was kind of an ass to my friend, but I think I scared the crap out of him.”

Sitwell is silent for a moment, then asks “You beat him up?”

“No sir, just stood up to him. Literally. I stood up and he ran off.”

Sitwell actually laughs at this before he catches himself. “Well, just don’t make a habit of it, Rogers.”

“Of what? Standing up?”

“You know what I mean, Rogers. Don’t go looking for trouble. Keep your head down, don’t draw too much attention.”

And there it is, that familiar tension in his jaw. “Yes, sir,” Steve mumbles through his clenched teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have gotten posted sooner, but I had to go see Age of Ultron. Twice. I'm not even sorry.  
> The next chapter should be up in a few days. I have almost 9000 words drafted on the rest of this. I think it may be more than eight chapters in the end... Again, not sorry.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I can also be found on tumblr under this same name.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s late on a Saturday morning; they’d spent most of the day in bed until Tony announced “I need sustenance” and disappeared into the shower. The water has just turned off when the coffee pot dings to announce that it is finished brewing, so Steve heads into the kitchen and pours a mug for each of them.

“Hey, perfect timing, coffee’s read-”

“Who the fuck are you?” says a voice behind him suddenly.

The mug Steve had been holding shatters on the floor, coffee sloshing everywhere. A rush of panic jolts through Steve as his mind runs through every SHIELD agent he knows before he recognizes the man in front of him from the magazine articles. 

Obadiah Stane is standing in the doorway from the workshop into the kitchen, staring at Steve with a look of contempt and disgust. Steve suddenly becomes painfully aware that he is only wearing boxers.

“Obie.” Tony’s voice behind him breaks their stare-down. “How nice of you to drop in.” His tone is entirely devoid of emotion as he towels off his hair. “I see you’ve met Steve.”

“New flavor of the week, huh? Quite a change from the girls you usually drag home,” Stane snarls with an emphasis on the word ‘girls’. Steve can feel his blood curdle.

Tony shrugs and places a kiss on Steve’s shoulder blade, the brush of his lips putting Steve slightly at ease. “My boyfriend.”

Stane laughs, the sound, full of derision, booming through the otherwise silent loft. “Don’t get too used to it, son.” His words are directed at Steve. “It never lasts with him.”

“Fuck you, Obie,” Tony snarls, his knuckles white as his fingers curl around the countertop. “Get whatever it is you came here for and get out.”

“Easy now, kid. What if I just came to say hi?”

Tony snorts. “Funny. Maybe call ahead next time. I’ll make sure to have some pie in the house - you look like you’ve been enjoying a bit of pie lately. And try to keep the business visits to the weekdays.”

Stane crosses the kitchen in three steps, the shards of the mug crunching under his shoes. “Tony, Tony, Tony, if you hadn’t been ignoring all my calls, I wouldn’t have had to come out here and put a damper on your morning with your little boy toy over there.” He claps a hand, hard, on Tony’s shoulder. Steve feels his muscles tense and fights the urge to pull the big man back as he leads Tony into the workshop.

Stane looks back over his shoulder to Steve as he says “Someone had better clean that up. I would hate to see you boys get hurt.”

Steve listens closely to the conversation in the workshop as he sweeps up the mess, not because he wants to eavesdrop but because he needs to be sure Tony is safe.

“I said the prototype would be ready by January, and it will be. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal?” Stane’s voice is a low snarl. “It would already be ready if you weren’t too busy dallying away your time with Blondie over there. Have you even looked at the stock price lately? It hasn’t recovered much since the news of your father’s death and the P5000 wasn’t exactly a hit. We need a big announcement to close out the fiscal year, something to show them that you can handle this, Tony. I want this ready to present by December 15th.”

“That’s the middle of final exams!” Tony protests. 

“What’s more important, the company or some test? Stark Industries needs you, Tony,” his deep voice lulls. “We’d hate to have to cut jobs before the holidays.”

Steve’s hands are shaking wildly despite his best efforts to keep a lid on his anger. He loses his grip on the dustpan, spilling the shards of the mug again as it fell to the floor with a _clang_.

“And make sure you keep Butterfingers back there out of the workshop,” he hears Stane say as he steps into the elevator.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Tony is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His lips are pursed in a thin frown and his eyes are red with anger. He sighs, straightens and steps over the shards to Steve, taking the dustpan from him. “Here, let me.”

Steve grabs the counter to steady himself. He opens his mouth but finds that he can’t formulate the words, so he decides instead to take the light-hearted approach. “So, boyfriend, huh?”

Tony bursts out laughing, bending over and clutching his stomach. “Really, Rogers? That’s what you took out of that ordeal?”

***

It’s almost surprising how easily they fall into the new routine. Steve heads over to Tony’s after class on nights he isn’t working instead of going to his own, lonely apartment. It’s starting to get too cold to paint outside, but there is plenty of space inside for him to set up his easel. Steve paints in silence as Tony chatters away while he works, sometimes talking to Dummy but mostly to himself. Often Steve just sits and watches Tony work. There’s something oddly peaceful about the seeming chaos that surrounds him; his mind seems to move at a million miles an hour, his mouth only slightly slower. And yet it makes Steve feel calm. The way Tony leans over his workbench, his torn jeans hanging low from his hips, his foot tapping on the side of the stool.

Eventually Steve sets down his brushes and makes dinner - on rare occasions he can even drag Tony away from his workbench long enough to go out somewhere to eat. Steve’s mac and cheese is Tony’s perennial favorite, of course, but Steve also makes it his mission to get Tony to branch out in his culinary preferences and even ingest a few vegetables from time to time. He does get him to try smoothies - he has to call it a milkshake at first - but Tony puts his foot down vehemently when Steve presents a green smoothie.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. It is not St. Patrick’s Day, and there is no Jameson in that. That is the _only_ time green drinks are acceptable, and only because it’s artificial.”

“Your loss,” Steve says, and downs it in one long gulp as Tony watches and shudders.

Two days later, Dummy rolls over as Steve is painting and presents him with his own smoothie concoction.

Tony is making good progress on his prototype - the explosions are becoming fewer and fewer - and even finds time to work on his own pet projects. One day Steve walks into Tony’s apartment after a few days of not having been there to find two new robots zooming behind Dummy. “I needed more hands,” Tony says nonchalantly, as if building robots were something everyone did over the weekend. The robots are labeled U and Butterfingers. 

Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony, who just shrugs and says “Obie can’t tell me who I can and can’t have in my workshop.” 

***

Weekends are nice, when they have some time to just “hang around”, as Tony puts it, and see where the day takes them. It’s mid-morning on a Sunday when Steve finds himself nestled between Pepper and Tony in one of the couches at Grinds, the coffee shop across the street from Tony’s building. The two of them are “talking about business stuff” and Steve is happily zoned out with his hands curled around a ridiculously sweet pumpkin spice latte.

“Well whaddya know, it’s Tony Stark. Fancy meeting you here.” A guy comes up to them from behind and claps Tony on both shoulders. Steve feels a pang of jealousy jolt through him, which is a bit odd considering how often people come over to say hi to Tony. It’s quickly followed by a stab of fear - he can tell instantly from his posture that this guy is in the military. Then his brain kicks in and he remembers Tony’s stories about his friend Rhodey. The description seems to fit, and Steve’s conclusion is quickly confirmed when Tony hops up off the couch and wraps him up in a bear hug. 

“Rhodey! Look what the cat dragged in. I haven’t seen you in like five years, man. Steve, Pepper, this is Rhodey, or as boring people call him, Jim Rhodes.”

He smiles at them and shakes Pepper’s hand, then Steve’s. “Good to meet you. I take it you are why I haven’t seen Tony in ‘five years,’ as he puts it?”

Steve feels his ears go red. “To be fair, the blame can only fall on us from the end of September.”

Rhodes laughs. “So the rest is just Tony being Tony.”

“Yep,” Steve agrees.

“In my defense,” Tony interjects as he flops back onto the couch, “you’re always off on the weekends doing the military thing. Rhodey is in ROTC,” he explains to Pepper. “Oh hey, you should talk to Steve, Steve is -”

Steve nudges him with his foot and shakes his head slightly. 

“Steve is an art student,” Tony finishes. “But he also regularly kicks my ass at Call of Duty.”

“Oh, yeah? I smell a challenge coming on,” Rhodes says as he settles into the armchair opposite them. He and Tony are quickly wrapped up in an in-depth discussion that involves a lot of hand-waving and arm-punching, leaving Steve and Pepper to watch in amusement.

Pepper leans over to Steve. “It’s like watching a live-action Statler and Waldorf segment.”

***

“So what was that all about?” Tony asks later. They’re sprawled out on the bed, Tony curled up against Steve’s shoulder. “How come you didn’t want me to tell Rhodey you were in the military?”

Steve has been dreading that question. Because Rhodey would ask him all the standard questions - what was your rank, which division, where did you serve, why did you leave - and although SHIELD has provided him with answers to all of those questions, he doesn’t want to have to lie more than he needs to. Especially to Tony. “I don’t like to talk about it a lot. Plus, you know, there’s that whole ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing…”

Tony pulls away to look him in the eye. “Seriously? Rhodey is my best friend. He would never out you like that. Plus I thought you were out of the military anyway?”

He feels his jaw clench. “Sort of, but not completely. Anyway, I just didn’t want to get into it. But I like Rhodey, he seems like a good guy.”

Tony rolls onto his back and stretches, his lean body arching. “He’s pretty much the only one who will put up with me.”

Steve pins him down, trailing kisses from his shoulder to his jawline. “Not the only one,” he murmurs into Tony’s neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Steve nuzzles his chin, his hands running over Tony’s chest. “I think you’re pretty okay,” he whispers into Tony’s ear.

“Oh my god, Rogers, you’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Tony flails as Steve presses his body against him.

“Now what would be the point of that?” Steve asks, catching Tony’s lips with his before he can reply. He lets his hand wander along the side of Tony’s body. Tony shudders beneath him and arches up, pressing his hip into Steve as he pulls his shirt off. He kisses his way down Tony’s neck, along his collarbone, around his nipples. He follows the line of Tony’s abs down, nuzzling his hipbone, and unbuttons his pants. Tony gasps as Steve licks along his erection, taking just the head into his mouth at first, then all of him. 

“For the record,” Tony stutters between groans, “I also - hmm - think you’re - geez - pretty okay. Especially - oh - when you - do this - yeah that. That’s kinda - nice.” He whimpers when Steve pulls his mouth away.

“Tony, shut up.” 

“Yes, sorry,” he says as Steve turns his attention back to Tony’s dick, “just don’t stop doing that. Will shut up for blowjobs. I can do that. Oh fuck. Actually, it would appear that I can’t.” 

***

Their routine is good for Steve, too. He’s finding that he holds the paintbrush more confidently these days, his paintings moving in a different, more abstracted direction. 

“Your work has developed considerably this semester,” his professor tells him during a mid-semester critique. “This new style suits you. I think you’ve found your stride, Rogers. Keep it up.”

It’s Tony who is the driving force behind Steve getting his work displayed at Grinds.

“Um, I kind of did a thing,” he announces one day over dinner. “Don’t be mad.”

Steve puts his fork down and looks at Tony intently.

“It’s not bad, don’t worry. You’ll thank me in the end.”

“Tony…”

“Okay, so I showed Meg some photos of your work and she wants to put it up in the coffee shop.”

Steve feels his jaw clench. “You… But - none of it is finished. And I need to present it in class, I can’t have it tied up in a show. It’s not… ready to be shown.”

Tony lays his hand over Steve’s balled fist. “Hey, Steve. Your work is incredible. It’s gonna be great. Plus it wouldn’t be until, like, March anyway.”

He agrees reluctantly - having one’s work displayed is rather important for an artist, after all, even if those underlying concerns about getting his name out there still follow him - and soon finds that he is, in fact, thrilled about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if either of these colleges have an Ultimate Frisbee team, so I'm invoking the rule of ::jazzhands:: AU!  
> I hope you have a good dentist, because it gets pretty fluffy. I swear there's a plot here, and I promise it will actually kick in in earnest by the next chapter...

In a last-minute upset, the MassArt Ultimate Frisbee team actually managed to beat their rivals from Northeastern in the last game of the season, so the entire team and friends descended on the nearest Applebee’s to celebrate. Their poor waiter was thoroughly overwhelmed by the huge group at first, but Tony promised to double their bill in the tip, which certainly helped.

The group parted after dinner, but not everyone was ready to call it a night just yet, which is how a number of them have ended up congregated in the kitchen area of Tony’s loft. 

Steve is leaning back against the kitchen counter and into Tony, who is comfortably warm and sitting behind him on the counter. Tony’s left arm is wrapped around Steve’s waist, the other draped over his shoulder and resting on his chest.

The group has just finished _ooh_ ing over the bots - U and Butterfingers have just showed off the dance to “Hollaback Girl” that Rhodey taught them and Dummy is hovering in front of the doorway from the workshop into the kitchen, his chassis too wide to fit through (which Steve suspects was very much not an engineering oversight) - when Austin turns to Tony.

“So, Tony, I gotta ask - you and Steve, how did that happen? I didn’t know you’re even gay.”

“I’m not.” Steve detects a hint of defiance in the tone of Tony’s voice, just slight enough that the others who don’t know him as well probably wouldn’t pick up on it.

Austin gives him a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised. He gestures towards them. “Uh, present circumstances would indicate otherwise. Cuz honey, not even the most conservative politicians are that far in denial.”

Tony grins and tightens his arm around Steve’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder. “Oh, you mean this? Come on, who could say no to this? Don’t answer that, Rhodey. But like ninety-four point five percent of my ‘little black book’ is female, so if we _have_ put labels on things I’d go with mostly straight with a sprinkling” he makes jazz hands at this “of bi-ness. Is that a word?”

“Point five?” Steve hears Pepper ask quietly. 

“I’d say mostly he’s just not that picky,” Rhodey needles.

Tony punches Rhodey in the arm, then wraps himself around Steve again. “As I said, who could say no to this? What he sees in me, though, that’s the real mystery.”

Steve feels himself blush and ducks his head to hide his embarrassment at having everyone focused on him. He feels a bit on display, like during those first few bond sales performances back in the day, but then Tony brushes his lips against his neck and suddenly he’s right back in the here-and-now. “I’m just after his money,” he deadpans. “Art students can’t afford to eat sushi, and I love those little temaki rolls.”

Tony digs his fingers into Steve’s ribs and tightens the arm around Steve’s neck into a playful headlock. “I knew it!”

“Sorry babe,” Steve razzes, pulling easily out of Tony’s grip, “it’s really your only redeeming quality.”

“That is a horrid half-truth. I also have mad Mario Kart skillz, and I challenge anyone who’s man - or woman - enough to go up against me.” He nudges Steve aside and hops off the counter, swiping a bottle of beer and waving for others to follow as he heads over to the TV area. “JARVIS, turn on the GameCube.” 

Steve watches as he walks away, a now-familiar feeling of fondness catching in his chest.

“It’s nice to see, you know,” Rhodey says. Most of the others have followed Tony to the couches; just Steve, Rhodey, Pepper and two of Steve’s teammates are left in the kitchen.

“Hmm?” he hums, caught slightly off guard. He’s in the middle of taking a sip of his beer and gulps it down.

“Tony.” Rhodey nods towards where Tony is now taking on Devin at Mario Kart. “Haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

“Oh.” Steve isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he waits for Rhodey to continue.

“When I said, that day we met in the coffee shop, that I hadn’t seen him in forever, I wasn’t really exaggerating. Okay, it was maybe only about five months, but still…” He shrugs. “After his parents died, it was like he shut down. He stopped going out, rarely went to class, wouldn’t take my calls, didn’t respond to emails. I think that might have been his first time going out since their funeral, the iron pour, where you met him.”

Steve is too shocked to reply. Tony always seemed so upbeat and relaxed; he’d been almost flippant talking about the accident that night at Brantford’s. Had it really all been a show? Just another mask he wore?

“Of course it was for an iron pour. I knew that would be the kind of thing to get him out of the house. I emailed him the flyer for it, you know, so basically you owe me. You wouldn’t have met if it hadn’t been for me,” Rhodey says with a grin.

Steve smiles at that. “Well, thank you. I’ll be sure to send you a nice flower arrangement or something.”

“Eh, I’m allergic to lilies. But jokes aside, I’m just glad my plan to get him back in the world worked. Not _quite_ what I had anticipated, but it’s good to know he’s got someone on his six when I’m not around.” He shoves Steve’s arm playfully.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you, then, that he threatened to kill you that evening,” Steve teases back.

“He what?!”

“He had just realized he was wearing that hideous Backstreet Boys shirt,” Pepper pipes in.

Rhodey bursts out laughing, clutching his sides. “That’s seriously the greatest thing I have heard all year.”

Steve looks over at Pepper and notices that she is beaming. _Interesting_ , he thinks, filing that observation for later.

***

Not every day with Tony is as easy as the rest, though. They argue from time to time, which is normal in any relationship but certainly exasperated by both of them being too stubborn to back down, but they usually work things out quickly enough.

It is, however, very unusual for Tony to be quiet.

He had tossed his backpack down next to the door when he came in, barely muttering a “Hey” before sitting down at his workbench. He’s quiet while he works, speaking only to direct the bots. 

The silence is eerie and uncomfortable. Steve finds himself replaying the past days in his head, searching for something he might have done to have caused this. They had spoken on the phone just a few hours earlier and everything had been fine. There’s no way he’ll be able to focus on painting like this, he realizes, so he heads into the kitchen and starts chopping onions.

The smell of cooking is eventually enough to lure Tony away from his project and he wanders into the loft area and flops dramatically onto the couch. Steve brings over the plates of pasta, hands one to Tony and settles next to him. 

Tony starts eating without a word.

Steve twirls a strand of spaghetti around idly on his fork, then sets the fork down. “Tony.”

“Hmm?” he replies around a mouthful of pasta.

“What’s on your mind, Tony?” Tony shoots him a questioning look, so he continues. “You’ve barely spoken all evening. You’re never this quiet. What’s wrong?”

Tony swallows, then lays down his fork. “Obie called today.”

“Oh.” 

Tony was often sullen after a call from Stane, but this silence is a new development.

“Next week is the annual Stark Industries gala and I have to go, you know, do the old song-and-dance routine. Rubbing elbows with the investors, making the company look good, all that shit. Press is usually there too. Which is why Obie made it _very_ clear that my date needs to be, you know,” he spreads his hands, studying them carefully, “not male.”

Steve breathes a silent sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have been able to go anyway without serious repercussions from SHIELD. “Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around Tony. “Don’t worry about it. I’d be a terrible date anyway. You know how I am. I get all sweaty and tongue-tied and I never know what to say…”

At least it earns him a quiet laugh from Tony. “That’s true. I just - I hate these things. I hate the face I have to put on, I hate having to pretend to like these people, and I hate that they should get to say who I can or cannot date.”

“I know.” He knows _exactly_ how Tony feels, and he lays a reassuring hand on Tony’s thigh. “But it’s just for one evening. And then you can go back to being you.”

“So you don’t mind me going with someone else?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Do I need to be jealous?”

“God no. My dates tend to be about as interesting as those pre-buttered rolls from the corner store.”

Steve lets out a hearty laugh. “Wow, sounds fascinating. Hey, why don’t you ask Pepper? I’m sure she’d be happy to help you out and then you’ll have a friendly face around.”

Tony turns to look at him and smiles. “You’re a genius, Steve Rogers.”

***

Pepper agrees happily to go along to the gala. It’ll be a good experience for her career, she points out, plus she might be able to do some networking. But more importantly, she’s glad to help out a friend. “By which I mean Steve, of course,” she says teasingly to Tony. “So he doesn’t give himself an ulcer because you have another date.” She nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. 

“I do have one condition, though.”

“Oh crap. Okay, but I insist on a pre-nup, and you have to be cool with the fact that my heart belongs to another.”

“What? No! I meant…” She stirs her drink a little too vigorously. Steve has never actually seen Pepper blush before. “I want you to invite Jim out with us sometime.”

Tony laughs loudly enough to make others in the café turn around to glare at him. “Really? Rhodey? Yeah, sure thing, Pep. Done.”

***

Steve is awoken by the sound of the elevator door closing and Tony taking off his shoes. 

“Hey,” Tony says as he pads over to the couch where Steve is lying and crouches in front of him. He runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Sorry to wake you.”

“No, I’m glad. How was the gala?” He stretches and stifles a yawn.

Tony slumps down onto the floor and leans back against the couch. “Ugh. It was. Not as terrible as they usually are, I guess. Pepper was great. Would have been a lot more agonizing without her. Hmmm, please don’t stop doing that ever.”

Steve smiles as he nuzzles the side of Tony’s neck. Tony smells of cologne and scotch. He reaches his arm around Tony to give his bowtie a tug, pulling it loose.

“Hmm,” Tony purrs. “I did miss you tonight. Kept thinking of you, sitting here all alone, and how much it fucking sucks that I have to bring a pretend date when I have a perfectly good real date back at home.”

“Hey, shhhh,” Steve turns Tony’s head and quiets him with a kiss. “Your pretend date was probably a much better choice than me. Although I am sad I didn’t get to spend the evening eyeing you up in that tuxedo.”

That earns him a quiet laugh. “God, if you’d been there in a tux I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Well,” Steve says as he flicks open the buttons of Tony’s shirt one by one, “the feeling would have been quite mutual.”

“Okay, I’ve made up my mind,” Tony says, jumping to his feet and pulling Steve up off the couch. He presses him against the arm of the couch and starts tugging off Steve’s clothes. “As soon as I turn 21 and the company is mine, I’m definitely taking you. I can’t wait to see all those scandalized faces when I pull you into the coatroom and have my way with you. Actually I’m gonna need to hire a photographer or something to capture them, cuz I’ll be, you know, busy...”

Steve blushes and presses his face against the top of Tony’s head, fighting the conflicting feelings of fear of what would happen if that actually ever did occur and blinding happiness from the ideas that Tony is thinking about still having him around a few years down the line and that he would happily toss aside so much just to show the world that Steve means something to him.

A sob escapes him.

Tony’s head snaps up to look at him. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve manages, his voice wavering. It’s soon, probably much too soon to say it, but he doesn’t see the point in hiding it. “Absolutely nothing. You are amazing, Tony Stark, and I love you.”

A wide smile crosses Tony’s face before he lunges in to kiss Steve, hard and insistent. Their bodies press firmly against each other as Tony clutches Steve. Steve grabs at Tony’s ass and lifts, Tony wrapping his legs around Steve as he carries him to the bed. 

They fall onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs, hands moving over each other’s bodies and shucking off articles of clothing until they’re both naked. Tony reaches over to the nightstand for the lube and a condom, which he shoves at Steve.

“Need you,” he mumbles. “Now.”

Steve has barely slicked his fingers when Tony pushes against him.

“Please, Steve. I need to feel you.”

Steve blinks in an attempt to clear his brain, muddled by Tony’s sudden urgency. He rolls the condom on and pushes into Tony, who winces but rocks back, grinding against him, and he’s so tight and Steve thrusts in again and again and he’s so close already and it’s over much too quickly but it was just what he needed. They’re both blissed out and out of breath as they collapse onto each other.

“Hey, what’re you doing over Christmas break?” Tony asks as Steve is just about to fall asleep, his fingers dancing over Steve’s chest. “I have to go to New York to present the prototype. Wanna tag along?”

“Uh, I have to go to New York too, actually, to visit my uncle.” End of the quarter means another visit to Sitwell. “I should probably spend some time working on my portfolio, but that’s about it.”

“Hey, that’s perfect. Let’s go to New York for a few days, we can stay in the old house. You can hit up all the museums while I do the boring business stuff.”

Steve feels his throat close up and he struggles to get the words out. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t take you to meet my uncle. He doesn’t know about… you know…” He waves his hand between them in a vague gesture.

His worries dissipate just as quickly as they had risen when he sees how nonchalantly Tony shrugs it off. “That’s fine. He doesn’t sound all that pleasant to be around anyway. And I’m not exactly the kind of guy you bring home to meet the family,” he added with a grin.

“Now that’s where you are wrong,” Steve says, lifting Tony’s face to look him in the eye. “If my real family were still here, I would have dragged you there to show you off ages ago.”

Tony kisses his nose and sighs. “Man, this is so fucked up. All this so-called awareness and acceptance these days and everyone’s all like ‘oh em gee that gay cowboy movie, now it’s okay to be gay because people are talking about it’, and sure we’d be allowed to fucking get _married_ , at least here in Massachusetts, in theory, but in truth we do still have to hide it. Oh my god we should totally -” his eyes light up like they always do when he’s just had another Next Greatest Idea, and Steve silences him quickly by pressing a finger on his lips.

“Don’t say it, Tony,” he says, his heart aching.

“Mhhhnuuuh?” Steve removes his finger and lets Tony speak. “Why not? You wouldn’t want to?” A look of hurt flickers over his eyes.

Steve raises an eyebrow. So many reasons are running through his head, from SHIELD and Stark Industries to the fact that it’s much too early in their relationship and they’re too young (not counting his “nap time”, of course) to even consider that kind of commitment, but it all boils down to the fact that Tony doesn’t know who Steve really is. Keeping that from Tony gnaws at him constantly, but suddenly it seems almost unbearable. Because if things were different, yes, he would want to. He does want to. 

He draws a long breath before answering. “I don’t want you to say it now,” he says, “because I want it to be said for the right reasons, if or maybe when the time comes. Not to prove a point to anyone because it sounds like a great idea.”

“But it _cooooould_ be a great idea,” Tony whines as he kisses along Steve’s collarbone.

“Sure,” Steve laughs. “Just like those jetpack shoes.”

Tony pulls away and shoots him a very serious look. “Jetpack shoes ARE a great idea.”

“Yes, Tony, they are.” His tone is a mixture of bewildered and mock condescension. He pulls Tony towards him, holding him tightly. “And there will be a time and a use for them. I just don’t think getting things down from high shelves is quite that reason.”

“Easy for _you_ to say,” Tony mumbles into his chest. “You’re tall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High shelves. Sigh. The struggle is real.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I REALLY appreciate kudos and comments!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write a Christmas fic in May? Yeah, I did, sort of. Oh well, winter is coming.  
> You may notice I changed the number of chapters to twelve. It looks like that's what will end up coming to. Please don't eat me if that changes ;-)  
> Thanks in advance for kudos and comments! They really make my day and keep me going!  
> Please also feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes - I've been battling a cold and I think it ate my grammar.

By all accounts, it would seem that their trip to New York was a disaster. It was also the greatest New Year’s Eve that Steve had ever celebrated.

New York makes Tony different. They’re about halfway through Connecticut (Steve had assumed they would take the train, at which Tony had scoffed and insisted on driving - “The old girl needs some exercise,” he’d said as he lovingly ran his fingers over the hood of his Aston Martin) when Steve realizes that Tony’s usual verbal fountain has morphed into senseless babbling, his easy confidence replaced with that brash act he puts on around strangers. Steve reaches over and rests his hand on Tony’s knee, which seems to put him at ease a bit and at least has the effect of getting him to not speed quite as much.

It’s dark by the time they reach the Stark mansion in Manhattan. The massive gate swings open as the car approaches, and although Steve should be used to invisible technology by now since Tony has started making everything in his apartment voice-activated over the past weeks, it still takes him by surprise and feels a bit like magic.

“Welcome to the humble Stark abode,” Tony says sullenly as he unlocks the front door and gestures for Steve to step in. The entry foyer alone is bigger than his entire apartment. Their footsteps on the marble floor echo through the entire house and it feels painfully empty.

“This is where you grew up?” Steve asks, trying to control the sound of bewilderment in his voice. It’s a beautiful building, with elaborate ceiling stucco and wrought-iron balustrades, but he can’t imagine actually _living_ in a space like this.

“Yeah. Well, at least until Dad shipped me off to boarding school when I was, like, twelve.” His voice has a glum undertone that Steve hasn’t heard from him before. “This is actually my first time back since they - since the accident.”

Steve’s heart breaks a bit as he watches Tony saunter towards the doorway at the far end of the foyer, his shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. 

Tony turns when he notices that Steve isn’t following.

“Come on,” he says, walking backwards, “I’ll give you the grand tour.” And then he flashes that fake talking-to-the-press grin and Steve wants to cry. He wants to wrap him up in his arms and hug away all the hurt. But for now, he just follows.

They leave their bags in one of the guest bedrooms - “We’re definitely not staying in my old room. That would be weird. You’ll see why in a minute,” Tony explains - and make their way through the house, Tony opening doors here and there to show Steve the rooms behind them. He’s right about it being weird - Tony’s bedroom clearly hasn’t been changed much since he went to boarding school. The walls are deep blue with white trim, at least what’s visible of them behind all the posters, pictures and magazine articles tacked to them. Steve steps into the room to take a closer look at some of them. It’s mostly tech-related articles, some clippings of newspaper articles on achievements of Tony’s, a few posters of pin-up girls and supercars. Then he spots it, hanging in the corner just above Tony’s bed: a cover of an old Captain America comic book.

It’s just a comic book, he tells himself. Kids love comic books, and Tony was clearly just a kid when he put this up. No need to read too much into this. He’s never mentioned anything to Steve about comic books, after all. 

He sees Tony’s gaze follow his, but before Tony can make the connection or say anything, Steve grabs his wrist and tugs him back to the door. “Come on, Tony,” he says, his voice purposefully low and husky, “you said there was a hot tub.” 

It’s a bit of a dick move, using sex to distract him, but hey, it works and Tony is certainly not objecting, after all. 

In fact, his eyes light up at the suggestion. “Yep, let’s go!” He literally drops everything and drags Steve to the master bathroom.

They come hard together, hands wrapped around each other, but both are somewhere else in their heads. Steve can tell that Tony is miles away mentally, his mind working through being back in his old childhood home, and Steve’s thoughts keep drifting back to that comic book cover and the growing weight of hiding the truth of his life from his lover.

***

Steve checks his watch again. It’s been 43 minutes. Something is wrong. Sitwell has never made him wait longer than 32 minutes.

He shifts in the waiting room chair. The hard plastic is really starting to get uncomfortable.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens. Sitwell steps through and gestures for Steve to come in. “Rogers,” he says with a curt nod as a greeting.

“Agent Sitwell, how are you?” 

His attempt to bring levity to the situation falls flat.

“Have a seat, soldier.” Sitwell sits on the far side of the table, gesturing for Steve to sit across from him, which Steve obeys. As always, Sitwell picks up the file with his reports and flicks through them.

“I see you’ve been busy.”

“Yes, sir, this is my final year, after all.”

“And then you’ll have a degree in art.” There is an undeniable condescending sneer to the final word. “What exactly do you plan to do after that?”

Steve tucks his hands under his legs to keep from balling his fists. “To find work, sir.”

Sitwell holds his gaze without moving, as if challenging Steve to continue.

Steve almost wants to mention his upcoming show at Grinds but thinks better of it. “I can stay on at least part-time at the museum where I’m working now, and that will give me time to work on my art.”

There is a flicker of disapproval in Sitwell’s eyes. “You mentioned an altercation a few weeks ago. What happened there?”

“It wasn’t really an altercation.” He recounts the events with the soccer ball, of course without mentioning Tony’s presence.

“So this person in the hat, he disapproved of your… friend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about you?”

“I don’t think that he liked me either, sir.”

Sitwell glares at him. “No, I mean what do you think of your friend?”

Steve glares back. “He’s my friend.”

“Just a friend?”

He carefully steels his demeanor. “Yes, sir, just a friend. I think his boyfriend would kill me otherwise. Plus he’s not really my type,” Steve adds, going for flippancy.

Sitwell raises an eyebrow. “Hard to tell with you artist types.”

Steve stares back in defiance, not willing to justify that statement with a response.

The agent picks up the file again, pulls out the medical report. “Doc says your active heart rate is higher than usual. Too busy painting sunflowers to keep up with a fitness regimen?”

Again Steve does not reply, but he can feel his heart accelerating. Something is coming; he can feel it.

Sitwell slides a business card across the table. “This is a gym in Boston affiliated with SHIELD. You will report there three times a week for training with Bill O’Shea. O’Shea reports to me, so if you’re skipping out, I’ll know about it.”

“Yes, sir,” he forces himself to reply calmly although he’s screaming on the inside.

Sitwell pushes his chair back to stand up and Steve follows suit. He’s almost at the door when the agent catches his arm.

“And remember this, soldier. If I find so much as a police blotter about you causing trouble, you’ll find yourself back in SHIELD quarters faster than you can say the Pledge of Allegiance. And they won’t be nearly as comfortable as last time.”

***

Tony has to present the prototype the next day, so Steve decides to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He gets there shortly after it opens, but he doesn’t even make it halfway through the first floor. The courtyard in the American Wing practically knocks the breath out of him - a wide, light-filled open space filled with art from the turn of the century - the last century, that is. He drifts back to his past life as he watches the water play in the Tiffany fountain on the far wall and he’s mesmerized, his mind turning over those old memories and the seeming absurdity that he should have ended up here. Someone brushes against him, bringing him back to this reality, and he turns to look, catching only a glimpse of deep red hair before it disappears through the doorway. He shakes off the thought - lots of women dye their hair red these days, after all, and what are the chances that he should happen to run into the same woman he met at the museum in Boston at one of the largest museums in one of the largest cities in the country?

He heads to the modern art wing next and doesn’t leave until the security guards shoo him out because the museum is closing. He checks his watch - Tony is probably back by now - and treats himself to a hot dog with the works from a street vendor as he heads back to the mansion.

“Hey,” he says as he enters the library, where Tony is sprawled out on the couch in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. One leg is over the armrest, the other dangling off the side of the couch, and his left hand is slung over his eyes. His right arm is hanging limply at his side, an empty tumbler on the floor just beneath his hand.

Tony just groans.

Steve walks over and brushes his fingers over Tony’s forearm. “What’s the matter, toots?”

“Life. Don’t talk to me about life.”

Steve smiles. There’s a reference he understands - he read the Hitchhiker’s Guide books during his time at SHIELD. “You are not a clinically depressed robot, Tony, despite your better efforts. And don’t even think of building one.”

Tony huffs and sticks his tongue out at him. “Fine. But the dry British humor would be a nice touch.”

“Great, now I’m imagining Dummy with John Cleese’s voice.” 

At least Tony is laughing now. Steve settles at the end of the couch, taking Tony’s head into his lap and running his hand through his dark hair. He’s had it cut for the presentation, and Steve likes the fuzziness at the back of his head.

He feels Tony relax at the touch, and then Tony starts to talk. “On the bright side, the presentation went well. The board seems happy and a bunch of customers are already lined up. So yay.” He makes jazz hands but frowns. “On the not-bright side, I hate the world.”

“Hey now,” Steve says in a low, calming voice, “what did the world do to deserve this?”

Tony doesn’t answer, just points towards the desk. Steve gets up and checks it; there’s a letter on it printed on NYPD letterhead. It’s addressed to Tony through Stark Industries and dated two weeks ago. He picks it up. “May I?” he asks Tony, who nods.

The investigation into the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark has been closed, the letter says, due to a lack of evidence to indicate that the cause was anything other than losing control of the vehicle as a result of driving under the influence of alcohol. Close inspection of the vehicle showed no signs of tampering.

Steve isn’t entirely surprised at that, considering what he’s heard of the man Howard became, and he is fairly sure Tony isn’t surprised either, but he can see how the finality of closing the investigation would bring up a whirlwind of emotions for Tony.

He sits back down on the couch with Tony’s head in his lap again. He runs his one hand over Tony’s abdomen in a soothing, circular motion, stroking his hair with the other.

Tony is silent for a while, which why it surprises Steve when he bursts out laughing.

“Rogers, are you seriously doing the ‘pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time’ thing on me?”

***

“It just doesn’t quite add up,” Tony says to his cereal the next morning.

“Hmm?” Steve looks up from his bowl, expecting to see Tony tapping away at some calculation on his laptop.

He’s just sitting on his stool, pushing his Cheerios around. 

“The tox lab results say that he had a blood alcohol content of 0.17, which isn’t actually all that unusual, for him, except he was driving and my mother was with him.” 

He stops, as if waiting for a response from Steve, but then continues. “She never let him drive when he had been drinking. She always called a driver.”

He fishes up a small spoonful of cereal, chewing it carefully before he adds “It also says that she had oxycontin in her system, which is not - it’s not her. She wouldn’t - she never would have touched that stuff.”

“Maybe she had had surgery recently?” Steve suggested.

“Nope,” Tony said with a fierce headshake. “I spoke to Doctor Bayer, our family doctor. He said he saw her a week before and she was in good hea-” his words are cut off by a sob and he buries his head in his arms.

Steve jumps to his feet and wraps his arms around Tony, pulling him back against his chest. He feels the younger man’s arms clutching at his shirt as if to protest at first before they go limp and his whole weight leans against him. His body heaves with the force of his sobs, and Steve holds him tightly.

After what seems like an eternity, during which Steve’s heart has broken in empathy for Tony at least three times, he feels Tony breathe in a deep sigh and move his arms to wipe his nose. Steve reaches for a napkin from the counter and hands it to him.

“Thanks,” he says weakly. Steve pulls back to look at him - his hair is rumpled and his eyes are bloodshot and he looks so... small. “Ohmigod, don’t look at me, I bet I look like shit.”

“I’m not here for your looks,” Steve says with an even voice.

Tony blows his nose loudly as he kicks at Steve’s shin. “Right,” he says around the tissue, “the money. Only redeeming quality.”

Steve reaches out and places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You know that’s not it, right?”

Tony shrugs and hops off the kitchen stool. “I gotta take a leak,” he says as he walks away.

“I’m here cuz you’re such a classy gentleman!” Steve calls after him with a laugh. He gets up and starts clearing the kitchen; Tony’s cereal is only half-eaten, but it’s gone soggy, so Steve dumps it down the drain and turns on the garbage disposal. Another great invention, he thinks. The grinding hum of the disposal drowns out any other noises, so he startles somewhat when he feels arms wrap around him from behind and just barely manages to subdue his reflex to flip his attacker over his shoulder and pin him down with a knee on his throat. 

It’s just Tony, of course, his face pressed close against Steve’s back. “Thanks,” he mumbles into his shoulder blade. “For being there.”

Steve reaches up and covers Tony’s hand with his. “Of course, Tony. Always.”

Tony pulls away and Steve hears rustling, so he turns to look.

“Here,” Tony says, and he shoves a small rectangular package into Steve’s hands. It’s hastily wrapped in garish Christmas paper.

Steve smiles and looks back up at Tony, who is rubbing the hair at the back of his neck and shrugs. 

“I know it’s only Christmas Eve day, but it seemed like a good time, so I wanted to give it to you now. It’s kind of a crappy present, and I suck at wrapping, sorry.”

“Well, if that’s how we’re doing this, hang on,” Steve says as he puts the present down and runs upstairs to get his present for Tony from his art portfolio case.

It’s a portrait of Tony, painted in tones of Prussian blue, the light hitting his face from the side. He used thick paint and heavy brushstrokes except around the eyes, where each detail is carefully articulated. The Tony in the portrait is wearing that look of defiance that Steve has come to love and fear, the look as if he’s ready to challenge the entire world. 

Tony is wide-eyed as Steve hands him the painting, looking up at him in disbelief. “Steve, this is amazing. Wow. When did you even paint this?”

“On those nights I wasn’t at your place,” he replies with a shrug as he carefully peels back the tape on the wrapping of his present from Tony.

“Wow. I’m gonna hang it over the bed.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “You’re incorrigible.” 

He’s finished unwrapping his gift, but he’s not sure what to make of it. It’s a smallish rectangular object, about hand-sized, clearly some sort of electronic device. It looks a bit like an iPod, except it’s a lot thinner. And the STARK logo is clearly emblazoned across it.

“Man, okay, so my present for you totally sucks compared to this,” Tony says, still carefully holding the painting. “I mean, I didn’t make it just for you. It’s a StarkPhone. Well, a prototype. It won’t actually go into production. It _would_ be the Next Big Thing in telecommunications if Obie would let me take the company into communications, but instead all that glory will probably go to Jobs. Except this-” he jabs at the device in Steve’s hands “-will be, like, ten times better than anything anyone else comes up with. Because I made it,” he adds with a wink.

Steve places a chaste kiss on Tony’s cheek. “This is great, Tony. Thank you. A daily reminder of your genius,” he adds with a smile.

He swears he can see Tony - Tony! - go slightly red at that and Tony shoves an envelope at him. “Here, these are for you too.”

The envelope contains a stack of cards, each marked with DONOR CIRCLE and the logo of one of the major museums in New York and Boston as well as a few in Philadelphia and Washington, DC. He looks at Tony questioningly.

Tony shrugs. “Those’ll get you into pretty much all of the museums in New England and the Tri-State area for free. SI donates money to all sorts of places anyway, so I just added a few I thought you might be interested in.”

Steve stares at the cards in his hands, speechless. It’s a simple gesture for Tony, but it means the world to Steve. “Tony, I don’t know what to say. This is… this is really swell. Thank you.”

Tony snorts. “ _Swell_? Really?” He runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Glad you like it. Oh, I took the liberty of making dinner reservations for us tonight. Little place down in Tribeca, I think you’ll like it.”

***

He’s right about that too. It’s a family-run restaurant, the kind that has been running under the same ownership for generations without much change because it doesn’t need to. The food is more traditional than Tony usually goes for, but on Christmas Eve roast goose with potato dumplings and green beans are perfect, especially when paired with apple pie and pecan brittle for dessert. 

Steve gets up to use the bathroom and is just heading back when he sees the red-haired woman coming towards him. Their eyes meet and that’s when it hits him that he has seen her far more often over the past months than he’d actively noticed. But now that he thinks about it, she’s been there, just in the corner of his eye: as he was leaving class, on the train to Tony’s, in the corner booth of the diner he and Tony go to sometimes, at the game against Northeastern, and of course that day in the park.

“Hi there,” she says with a half-smile. “Fancy meeting you here. Two days in a row. What are the odds.”

“Hi. Was that you at the Met yesterday? I thought I recognized your hair.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t stop and say hi, I had to get somewhere. But I’m glad we’re meeting again now. I’m Natalie, by the way.”

She’s looking deep into his eyes and Steve feels his ears getting hotter. Too late, he realizes that she’s holding out a hand for him to shake. 

“Oh,” he says, taking her hand and shaking it. He can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s been sent to follow him. He’s never seen her at SHIELD HQ, but that doesn’t rule out that Sitwell put her on his tail. “I’m Steve. Are you, uh, from around here, or just visiting?”

“Oh, I travel around a lot,” she replies with a hint of a wink, “but I spend a fair bit of time in New York. Maybe next time you’re in town we can meet up again, actually a planned encounter.”

“Steve, babe, it’s getting late and we still have to put out the cookies for Santa,” Tony swoops in suddenly, wrapping his arm rather suggestively around Steve’s hip and drawing him into a kiss that’s far too long and forceful to be considered appropriate behavior in public.

It throws Steve off and he pulls back. He looks at Tony, whose eyes flash with a look Steve can’t quite place. 

He glances at Natalie, then back at Steve. “Who’s your friend?”

“Uh, this is Natalie. We met at the museum. Natalie, this is Tony.”

Tony flashes his fake public smile and shakes her hand. “Good to meet you, Natalie.” It’s that schooled charismatic voice he uses for press interviews, and Steve kind of hates him right now. He’d been hoping to find out why Natalie keeps popping up, but any chance at that is gone now.

“Hi Tony. Sorry to intrude on your Christmas dinner. Happy holidays. Goodbye, Steve,” Natalie says, a slight wistful tone to her voice, and she turns and leaves.

Steve turns to Tony, still in disbelief at what just transpired. “Tony, that was _really_ rude! She was just being nice.”

“Like hell she was. I don’t like people touching my stuff.”

“Oh, am I ‘your stuff’ now?”

“You know what I mean,” he snaps back. “Unless you’d rather go home with her, in which case, by all means, go ahead. I won’t stop you.” He gestures towards where she had disappeared to and crosses his arms.

Steve crosses his arms as well and glares at Tony. “You know that’s not the case.” 

“Whatever, I’m going back to the house.” He grabs his coat from the coat hook and shoves the restaurant door open and is out the door before Steve’s brain kicks in and he scrambles after him.

It’s started to snow, a light flurry that’s barely sticking to the cars parked along the street. Tony is frowning as he stands on the curb with his unbuttoned coat blowing in the cold breeze, one arm stretched out to hail a cab and the snow swirling around him. _He’s absolutely beautiful_ , Steve thinks as he reaches out and pulls Tony towards him. Tony goes rigid, resisting Steve’s kiss at first until he finally gives in and kisses back.

“I’m still mad at you,” he says matter-of-factly when Steve lets him go.

“Good, cuz I’m still mad at you.”

“Well, good!” Tony huffs. “Then why are you still here?”

A cab whizzes past them, spraying slush onto the sidewalk, and Tony frowns.

“Because I want to be here. Where you are.”

“Why?” Tony whines, but Steve ignores it, reaching up to brush back a curl of hair from Tony’s face.

“Because you’re the one I want to be with. I don’t know what I did in a previous life to get stuck with such _terrible_ taste in partners, but here I am. And you’d better get used to that, cuz I’m not going anywhere. And especially not with a girl.”

Tony bursts out laughing. “Ohmigod, you’re more stubborn than a mountain goat, Rogers.”

“Yup. Gets me in a lot of trouble, too. Don’t think I’ll be able to change that, though, at this point. Come on,” he holds out a hand to Tony, who takes it with a questioning look. “When I said I want to be here where you are, I didn’t mean we had to stay in this exact spot all night. It’s cold.”

***

They go to Times Square on New Year’s Eve to see the ball drop. Tony insists after Steve mentions that he has never been (“Oh, come on, Rogers, it’s the most cheesy touristy thing ever, but you have to have at least seen it once.”), but that doesn’t stop Tony from complaining the whole time about the cold. Steve passes him a bottle of spiked soda and wraps him up in his arms. He smiles as he revels in the moment, pushing aside all their concerns for the time being - here he is, holding the brilliant young man he loves tightly in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The crowd counts down as the ball drops, and Tony twists around in his arms and leans up to kiss him.

“Happy new year,” Tony whispers in his ear. His nose is cold against Steve’s cheek.

Steve finds himself grinning from ear to ear. “Happy new year. Come on, Frosty, let’s go home.”


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as they get back from New York, real life starts again. Tony dives back into his projects, glad to finally have a bit of time once more for the things he actually wants to be working on, and Steve finds himself incredibly busy putting together his work for the show at the coffee shop in addition to his new gym sessions three times a week. It’s also the last semester for both of them, so their time spent together is largely limited to the occasional evening spent working side-by-side but largely in silence as Tony works on writing his thesis while Steve works on his final portfolio. 

“I don’t get it, man,” Rhodey laments. The four of them are having a rare night out together, a double-date-that-isn’t-officially-a-double-date, and Pepper has just excused herself to say hi to some friends from class.

“We’ve been out like four times now, and we have a great time and everything’s going well but then she just… bolts.” He looks at Tony in exasperation, who just shrugs back at him.

“Don’t ask me, buddy. There’s a reason most of my relationships never lasted more than a few weeks. I suck at these things.”

“That’s true,” Steve teases and takes a sip of his beer to hide his grin.

Tony sticks his tongue out at him.

“Well you know her best of us, Steve. Got any insight?” Rhodey asks.

Steve looks over to Pepper and her friends a few tables away. It’s too far away for people without enhanced senses to hear, but Steve overhears one friend ask who the gorgeous guys she’s with are, and Pepper replies with “my best friend and his boyfriend, and the guy I’m kind of seeing.” Pepper catches Steve’s gaze and he winks to her. She smiles back warmly.

He turns back to Rhodey and Tony. “An old friend once told me ‘The moment you think you know what’s going on in a woman’s head is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked.’”

“My dad used to say that too, about the goose…” Tony says.

_Shit_ , he thinks, but doesn’t react. “Just give her some time. I know she likes you, she probably just needs some time to open up.”

***

His works go on display in the coffee shop mid-March, and Meg insists on throwing a small opening show. Steve tries to protest, but it’s tradition, she maintains.

He mingles with the visitors easily, glad for the experience he gained during his time selling bonds. Every so often, he catches a reassuring glance from Tony across the room. It’s a good turnout, at least thirty people at any given point during the evening, and the coffee shop is humming with voices. 

A reporter from the _Cape Herald_ approaches him. Anxiety wells up at first, but the reporter is from the Arts  & Society section, just working on a blurb piece about the local art scene, he says, and Steve keeps his responses limited to his work. He makes sure to emphasize that it’s Meg who makes this possible and points the reporter over to where the coffee shop’s owner is talking to a group of visitors.

Once the reporter has moved on, he steps aside to fire an email to Sitwell - a useful feature of his new StarkPhone. Sitwell will probably be less recalcitrant if he’s had a heads-up, Steve figures. After it’s sent, he stops for a moment to take it all in. They’re all here for him, for Steve Rogers. It’s nice.

He catches himself idly thumbing at the garnet and gold cufflinks Tony gave to go with his deep red shirt and even deeper red tie.

“Hey you,” Tony breathes. He’s sidled over and is standing close next to Steve, not touching, but Steve could swear he feels sparks arcing between them. “The spotlight suits you well.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and looks over at Tony, who seems to radiate with easy confidence in his dark blue Versace shirt and jeans, which he’s paired with worn yellow Converse sneakers, because he’s Tony. “Suits you better.”

Tony looks him up and down, his glance almost lascivious. He cocks a half-smile. “Hmm, you’d make a fine society wife.”

Steve feels himself blush, but before he can reply, the reporter appears again.

“Hi, Mr. Stark, I’m with the _Cape Herald_. Can you give us a statement?”

Tony’s eyes narrow at this. “I’m here strictly in a personal capacity, just showing support for a friend.”

“You don’t generally attend local art events. Why this one?”

“All I can say, and I’m sure as an arts expert you can see that yourself, is that this guy is going places and everyone should buy up all his artwork now before he realizes he should be putting a much higher price tag on it. Fill your living rooms with his work. I have. Now if you’ll excuse me...” He lets the sentence trail off as he wanders to the table with snacks near the doorway, taking and draining a glass of wine on the way.

***

Steve gets an email from Pepper the next day while he’s in class. ‘You’re famous!’ the subject line reads, and his stomach sinks. The attachment is a scan of the article in the _Cape Herald_. TONY STARK ENDORSES LOCAL ARTS, it’s titled, and while most of the article is actually about the show and Steve’s work, the final paragraph is focused on Tony and his quote.

His heart is racing and his ears are ringing. There’s no way Sitwell will miss this. He’d emailed him about it himself to let him know, for fuck’s sake. He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him; he has to get out. He jumps to his feet, accidentally getting caught in the tiny desk he’s wedged into and knocking it over. The professor stops mid-sentence and the entire class turns to look at him.

“Sorry,” he blushes. “Family emergency. I have to go!”

He’s out the door and in the middle of the quad by the time he gets himself back under control. _Breathe_ , he tells himself. _You can handle this_. And he starts strategizing.

Sitwell calls later that afternoon, as expected. “I see the press has taken a shine to you, Rogers,” he says as a greeting.

“It seems so, sir. The opening was very well visited yesterday.”

“So I read.” A pause. “What was Tony Stark doing there?”

“I’m not sure, sir. But it’s a small town and the coffee shop hosting the show is near MIT, so he was probably just in the area.”

“Just out getting coffee in the evening?” He sounds incredulous.

Steve fights to keep back a laugh. As if the time of day would influence Tony’s coffee consumption. “It’s, uh, fairly standard practise for college students these days. Actually he might have been meeting a coworker of mine from the museum, Virginia Potts. They went to the Stark Christmas gala together.”

Sitwell seems to accept this, judging from the silence at the end of the line. “I thought you were dating Ms. Potts?”

Well that’s an interesting turn of the conversation.

“No sir,” Steve says, allowing a slight laugh through in his response. “We go out for drinks after work sometimes, but we’re just colleagues.”

“Well, Rogers, I appreciate you letting me know about this in advance, but don’t let this become a habit.”

“With all due respect, sir, as an artist, a modicum of publicity will be necessary for my career.”

“Then maybe you should consider another career, soldier. Before we make that choice for you.” His voice is suddenly stern, all the cordiality of the past moments gone from it.

_Just can’t leave well enough alone, can you, Rogers?_ Steve thinks, kicking himself mentally.

There’s a pause in the line, then Sitwell says “Dismissed, soldier,” and the call disconnects.

“Fuck!” The exclamation slips out, much too loudly, and heads around him turn to look. He waves in apology and gathers his things to go home.

***

“Hey boys, good to see you. I’ve been fielding calls about your work all day, Steve. You guys want the usual?”

“Hiya Meg, yes, please, darling,” Tony says with a warm smile before turning back to Steve. “Are you _really_ sure you can’t come? Just for a day or two? Come on, it’ll be nice to get away. Cali’s great this time of year.”

Steve frowns. Tony is leaving later that evening on a business trip to California, and with the chilly wind making it feel about -15°, the thought of hanging out in the sun sounds incredibly tempting. But he needs to be treading carefully for the next while and can’t risk heading off across the country with the billionaire he’s just claimed not to know. “I’d love to, Tony, but I can’t. I’ve got a ton of work to do for school and the show at the museum is coming down soon so I’m gonna have to put in a bunch of hours there too.”

Tony whines. “Why do you have to be so grown-up?”

He places a hand on Tony’s cheek, the other resting on the brunette’s hip. “One of us has to. But I will be thinking of you the whole time. While I’m busy working and you’re busy making paper airplanes in your board meeting.” 

Tony smiles at that and Steve leans down to press a kiss on his lips.

That’s when he hears the sound of a camera shutter and just like that, everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuunnnnnn ... DRAMA!  
> As always, thanks for comments and encouragement! It really does provide a lot of motivation to keep going. And again, let me know if any errors slipped through - I'm still a bit under the weather. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!
> 
> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://imafriendlydalek.tumblr.com/), where I occasionally say something interesting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger last time! Thanks for all the comments, though!

Steve and Tony fly apart and twist around to find the source of the sound - there’s a man in a worn trenchcoat standing just inside the doorway holding a camera with a telephoto lens. He sees them and grins before turning and taking off out of the coffee shop.

Steve starts after him and gets out to the curb before he stops. He could easily catch up to the man; it wouldn’t be difficult at all to overpower him, wrestle the camera out of his hands and smash the memory card. But then he remembers Sitwell’s words and he stops. He’d definitely get arrested for that. He turns and looks at Tony, who is staring back at him with a questioning look, then turns back to watch the man running away from them. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Either way, SHIELD will be on him and this life he’s been living will be over.

Either way, he’s screwed.

He collapses to his knees, buries his face in his hands. There’s nothing he can do to stop this.

“Steve, calm down. It’s just some stupid paparazzo. I'm actually kind of surprised they haven't been on my tail more lately.”

“I can’t have my name out there in public like that.”

“You were in the _Herald_ just yesterday?”

“No, you don’t understand…”

Tony crouches down to him and places a hand on his shoulder. His voice is calm and even. “Steve, I’ve been down this road before. Believe me, it’ll be fine. ‘Tony Stark caught in public’ is hardly big news anymore. They probably won’t even print _your_ name. The picture might show up in the boring section in the celebrity gossip rags, maybe people will talk about it on the internet for about ten minutes before something more interesting comes along, and then it’s done. It’ll blow over. Unless you don’t want your name to be connected to me...”

His head snaps up at that. “You know that’s not it. It’s just...”  
He hears a tearing sound and looks down again to realize he’s been clenching his fists around the hem of his now-torn shirt, his control slipping. “I’m supposed to keep a low profile. You don’t understand. They won’t be happy.”

Tony places a finger under his chin and lifts his head, his gaze searching. “Who? Steve, _help me_ understand. What aren’t you telling me?”

Steve sucks in a deep breath. He has to tell Tony. He was going to have to tell him at some point, after all. Even if Tony hates him afterwards for lying to him, he deserves to know, at least, before Steve gets ‘disappeared’. “Let’s go inside, I’ll tell you everything.”

Tony follows him in angry silence back to his loft, which might as well have been on the eighty-seventh floor because the elevator ride up seems to take that long. They’ve barely stepped out of the elevator when Tony pushes him against the wall, holding him in place with his flat palm. “What the actual fuck is going on, Steve? Who are you so afraid of?”

“SHIELD.”

“Shield? What kind of a shield?”

“No, the organization. SHIELD. But there’s also an actual shield... Okay, so, there was a military project in 1941 that they called Project Rebirth...” he starts.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that; Dad used to tell stories from the ‘Golden Days’. The Captain America project. But how do you know about that? That’s pretty classified. And what does it have to do with you?”

He hadn’t been expecting Tony to know about Project Rebirth. “Did he ever tell you the name of the guy they transformed?”

Tony shakes his head, biting his lower lip. “‘Just a kid from Brooklyn,’ he used to say. He always just referred to him as Cap. Heard a lot about how great he was supposed to have been, though...” He trails off, studying his hands carefully, thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Well…” Steve starts. No going back now. “His name was Steven Rogers. Is.”

Tony’s eyes snap up to meet Steve’s. They’re blown wide, almost black, his look a mixture of surprise and disbelief, with a hint of betrayal. He listens in brooding silence as Steve tells him about his repeated attempts to get recruited, about Dr. Erskine, Colonel Phillips, Peggy, the Red Skull, Hydra, Bucky, the Commandos, the Tesseract, the ice. He slumps slowly; by the time Steve finishes, he’s leaning against the wall with his arms tucked around his knees. He looks so small and vulnerable all of a sudden, his mind obviously working through everything Steve has just told him as he idly chews on his thumbnail. Steve yearns to reach out and hold him, but his arms suddenly feel like they’re made of lead. He wants to take it all back, for things to be the way they were, but he knows that’s not an option. He’s actually also really glad to have it out there, to have Tony know. Not to have to keep his secrets to himself, and not to have to lie anymore.

“So you’re saying,” Tony starts, slowly, after an agonizingly long stretch of silence, “that a secret government agency - one my father helped to found, mind you - is forcing you to live in semi-hiding because you’re actually a genetically enhanced super-soldier?”

Steve sighs. “In a nutshell, yes.”

“You’re the Captain America that my dad was always going on about?”

“I can’t speak to that, but I was Captain America, yes.”

“Well, that does explain those rock-hard abs.” Tony shrugs and holds out a hand. It’s such a simple gesture, but it means everything, and Steve feels like he could cry. He takes it and lets himself be pulled down to sit on the floor next to Tony. 

“So how old are you really?”

“I was born in 1918.”

Tony huffs. “I did always have a thing for older guys.” After a moment he continues. “So you knew my dad?”

“I did. He was a good man, then.”

Tony lets out an incredulous laugh. “Well, it didn’t last.” He scrubs his hand over his face, then his eyes widen, his hand covering his mouth. “Ohmigod, I so have to take down those posters in my old room!”

***

“Okay, I have an idea. How we can get you out of this.” Tony had been pacing up and down the length of the workshop for the past hour, still chewing on his thumb. Steve was worried he was mulling over everything he had kept from him and stewing with anger, but that concern dissipates as soon as Tony looks up at him and continues. “Because there’s no fucking way I’m going to let them take you.”

“You’re not mad at me? For not telling you?” Steve almost chokes on the words, but he needs to know.

“No time to be mad right now,” Tony replies matter-of-factly as he picks up his keyboard. And he sets to work, talking through what he’s doing a mile a minute while he types even faster. Using the footage from Meg’s security feed and with a quick bit of hacking, he’s able to find out who the photographer was working for. A few calls later, he has the magazine’s chief editor on the line and is working all of his charm. In the end, Tony manages to convince them to hold the pictures for a week in exchange for exclusive access to the opening party of the new Stark satellite branch in California. That will at least buy them a little time to come up with a way to deal with SHIELD once Tony gets back from his trip, which he tries to cancel, but Stane is immovable. 

***

They’re walking through the park late at night. It’s just started snowing, a light flurry swirling around their feet as they trudge on, side by side but not touching. Tony is mumbling quietly to himself. 

“Why did you lie to me, Steve?” he asks and Steve looks over at him. 

“I had to. I’m sorry. I had no choice. It was the only way. I’m so sorry.”

“Are we almost there?”

He looks so small and fragile. He frowns and looks down at his hands. “My fingers are cold. I think this is the end of the line.” 

And then he slips, he’s sliding, off the path, over the edge of the cliff, and he’s hanging on but his fingers were cold so he’s losing his grip and Steve rushes over to grab him but he’s so far away and the ground is covered in so much snow and it’s so very slippery.

“Hang on,” he calls. “I’ll get you!” 

“Steve, my fingers. They’re so cold.”

“I’m here! Take my hand!” He reaches out, but he’s too far away and Tony won’t let go of the rock.

“Take my hand!” he calls again. 

“I can’t. They’ll see. They’ll know.” His eyes go black, his face without expression. He stops struggling. “They already do. This is the end of the line,” he says, and he lets go, plummeting into the darkness.

Steve jolts up, knocking his phone off the coffee table. It clatters to the floor. His apartment is dark and cold. And empty - Tony flew to California last night.

The clock on the microwave reads 6:27 PM. He must have fallen asleep on the couch after class. He should know better than to sleep in the afternoon. That’s when the nightmares come.

He’s drenched in sweat, his chest is heaving. He tries to catch his breath. _Steady, breathe in, breathe out. Nice and even._ Just like Bucky used to whisper in his ear when he was having an asthma attack. Bucky. Oh god, the scene is playing in his head again, and now it’s mingling with the memory of Bucky on the train.

He needs to get away. Needs to get out.

He moves to get up, sucks in a sharp breath when his feet touch the cold floor. Why is it always so cold?

He stumbles to his dresser, finds his running gear and pulls it on. He needs to clear his head; running has always helped. He takes off at a full sprint as soon as he’s out the door. 

He hasn’t had a dream this vivid in a long time.

He doesn’t bother pacing himself, he just runs. He runs until he thinks he can’t run any further, and then he keeps going. He’s probably on his thirtieth loop around the park and his muscles are screaming, but he doesn’t care.

“Captain Rogers.” A man in a dark suit steps out in front of him.

He stumbles for half a step, caught off-guard by the man’s sudden appearance, and skids to a stop. Adrenaline surges through his veins.

“We need to talk to you about Tony Stark.”

He’s known it would come to this, has been expecting it. And yet something feels off: Sitwell’s not the type to entrust others with a task like this, and the man called him Captain. No one he has dealt with at SHIELD has called him anything more than his last name or “soldier” since the first days after he woke up.

“I don’t know anything about him,” Steve says around his clenched jaw.

“We both know that’s not true.” A woman steps out from behind the man in the suit. Steve recognizes her red hair instantly.

So she _has_ been following him. He feels panic welling up and contemplates running, but where to?

“Don’t,” Natalie says as if she could read his thoughts, and she’s holding her hands out in front of her to placate him. “We’re here to help.”

“Are you from SHIELD?”

“Yes,” the man says. “But we’re not the enemy in this - we’re not here to bring you in, we’re here to help you get out. But we need to go somewhere safe to talk. Follow me, please, Captain.”

The man in the suit - Agent Coulson, he introduces himself - leads him to a bench hidden in a copse of trees near the War Memorial, and the irony is not lost on Steve. They know about him, they know about Tony, and they know about him and Tony. They’ve been watching him, Coulson explains, which sends fear shooting through Steve’s veins. As if it wasn’t bad enough he hadn’t noticed the photographer.

“We believe that someone at SHIELD wanted to keep you hidden for a reason. We don’t know for certain what that reason is, not yet, but we have a few leads that we’re following. I don’t think the higher-ups are fully aware of your situation, and I think that those who have put you in this situation are trying very hard to keep it that way. Which is why we need to tread carefully.”

“Why are you helping me?”

A slight glimmer of a reaction flickers over Coulson’s face as he purses his lips lightly. “Let’s call it a personal interest.” He gets up and walks to the riverbank, crossing his arms as he looks out over the water. “SHIELD is starting to catch on about your… personal situation. I don’t believe they know any details yet, but your handler and his team are not happy about your recent actions. Agent Natasha Romanov and I-” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at “Natalie” at this, who responds with a half-shrug.

“-have been doing what we can to keep a lot of things off the radar. That won’t work much longer, though. Not after those photos get printed. Unfortunately Agent Romanov and I were out of the country on another mission, so we were not able to keep that photographer off your trail this time.”

“They won’t be printed until next week. Tony pulled some strings.”

“So he knows.” There is a slight inflection to his tone that implies it could be a question, but it feels more like a statement.

“Yes, but only since yesterday. I had to tell him,” he adds, still not entirely sure if this man can be trusted.

“Alright. In fact, his unique position could be quite beneficial,” Coulson starts.

***

The magazine hits the newsstands the next day, and the picture of Tony and Steve is right on the front page. There’s a two-page article - if a huge headline and two paragraphs of conjecture is what passes as an article these days - and more pictures, mostly older photos of Tony with previous love interests (all female) as well as one of Steve with the Ultimate team that was pulled from the college’s website, and a few more from that day. Steve’s stomach flops at the sight - the photographer must have been following them and he hadn’t noticed at all.

Steve tries his hardest to go about his day as if nothing were going on. He goes to class, but one of the girls in his art history class has a copy of the magazine and is showing it to some others. He tries to ignore their looks, tries to force himself to focus on the lecture. God, he wishes Tony were at least there. This would be easier together.

The same thing happens in his graphic design class, and again in the student union when he goes to get lunch. A few actually come up to him and congratulate him, and he forces himself to smile and express his thanks, but it’s just a facade. 

He’s jumpy all day, convinced that there are SHIELD agents lurking around every corner, waiting to bag and tag him. So he’s hardly surprised by the black town car waiting in the loading area outside the arts building. The rear window rolls down, and Sitwell’s face appears.

“Rogers. Get in.”

So this is how it’s going to go, he thinks. He pushes a button on his phone as he pulls open the car door and slides in.

A copy of the magazine is lying on the seat.

“This is not part of our deal, Rogers.” Sitwell is glowering at him, his right hand curled tightly around a pen that his thumb is clicking open and retracting in an angry staccato.

 _I could jab that pen into his throat and make a run for it_ , he thinks. But that’s not a road he wants to go down.

“You did say to find someone and settle down. Okay, it’s not quite a house in the suburbs, but real estate is so expensive these days,” he replies as flippantly as he can manage.

“I’m glad you think this is so funny, Rogers.”

“I don’t think it’s funny at all. I am dead serious. This is my life, and if SHIELD doesn’t like that, well, that’s just a crying shame.”

“A crying shame? Do I need to remind you, soldier, that you are an officer of the United States Army and therefore remain under the command of its agencies?”

“I am well aware of that, thank you. However, if you intend to take me back to the barracks and lock me up, there’s something you should also be aware of. As you may well know, my partner is not really the type to accept things silently. Actually, I don’t think the word ‘silent’ is even in his vocabulary. So any attempt on your part to ‘silence’ me will undoubtedly be met by a great deal of noise from him. And I’m sure said agencies wouldn’t want to go head-to-head with one of their major suppliers, would they? Certainly not for something as trivial as a veteran who hasn’t served in active duty in over _sixty_ years.”

“Stark doesn’t have that kind of control over his company. He couldn’t drop us without Board approval even if he wanted to, and that would be a pretty dumb move for him to make anyway.”

Steve shrugs. “I suppose there’s that whole ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing too. I imagine this would qualify as ‘credible information’, and I know that Tony would definitely get a serious kick out of ‘telling.’ He does love a good press conference extravaganza. So, if that is how you want to play this... We go public about me being in the service, or you let me go now. I think I’ve fulfilled my duty for this country. They can go ahead and discharge me.” 

He folds his arms across his chest and stares Sitwell down defiantly. His body is in full ‘fight or flight’ mode, but he forces himself to maintain a steeled demeanor.

Sitwell leans back, a look of defeat flickering over his face. 

“ _Or_ ,” Steve starts again, more confident now, “we can both agree that this is how things will go: I will keep going about my business as Steve Rogers, artist and coincidentally partner of Tony Stark, and SHIELD will accept that. It’s the Captain America project you’re so keen to keep under wraps, and I see no reason to go against you on that. As far as I’m concerned, Captain America died seventy years ago. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who just wants to live his life.”

He can tell Sitwell is wavering, so he decides to strike the weak spot Coulson had pointed out. “I understand you’ll probably need to speak to your superiors about this.”

A bead of sweat has formed on his brow, and he’s wringing his hands around the pen. “Alright, Rogers. No need to be hasty about anything. You go back to your art, stay out of trouble and we’ll keep in touch. No reason to let this get any more out of hand or escalate it unnecessarily.” 

Steve inclines his head slightly in agreement. “Good day, Agent Sitwell,” he says as he opens the car door and steps out.

“Dismissed-” Sitwell starts, but Steve has already slammed the door shut. 

He watches as the car pulls away and then Tony pipes in through the comm line on his phone. “Holy shit, Steve, that was fucking brilliant.”

He exhales, a long breath of relief, as the burden he’d been carrying for the past years starts to dissipate. It isn’t over yet, he knows, but it feels a lot more tangible. 

***

“God, I wish I could have been there!” Tony pouts.

“Well, it sure looks like it’s nicer where you are,” Steve replies with a laugh. He can see the breeze blowing through Tony’s hair as he sits out on the terrace, the sun setting over the sea behind him. Steve, meanwhile, is huddled under three blankets in his warmest flannel pajamas. Video chat is definitely one of his favorite features of the StarkPhone.

“Where you are is nicest.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at his phone. “Who knew Tony Stark, boy genius, was such a cheeseball?”

Tony blows a raspberry back. “Listen, old man, no one says ‘cheeseball’ anymore. But I have a bit of bad news, actually.”

Steve feels his heart sink to his stomach and everything drain out of him.

“No, no, no, no, it’s not that bad!” Tony blurts when he sees Steve’s expression change. “It’s just - Obie says I have stay in California a little while longer. He says we need to wait for this to ‘blow over.’ Apparently the stock dipped a bit today. We'd actually been banking on a bump from the opening of the satellite office - it's powered by an arc reactor, so it was supposed to earn us a bunch of clean energy brownie points, clear up the company name a bit, but everyone's busy focusing on my relationship status instead.”

“Oh.” He feels a little relieved that it’s not worse, but not much. He had really been looking forward to having Tony back. With everything that has happened over the last few days, he’s desperate for ‘normal,’ and he’s still a bit worried Tony might be carrying some residual resentment that Steve had not told him sooner.

“Steve, babe, don’t pout. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He sighs. “Okay. It’s just - I miss you.”

“Yeah, me too. Soon, Steve, soon.”


	9. Chapter 9

‘Soon’ turns into three weeks. Those weeks seem like an eternity, and yet Steve is so busy that it also seems to fly by. The sudden flurry of interest in him has the pleasant result that all of his paintings in the show at Grinds are sold after just two weeks, so in addition to his work for school and at the museum, he also has a number of commissions to keep his time occupied. They videochat almost every evening, but Steve can tell that Tony is starting to chafe at being kept away. He tries his best to placate him, but Tony’s tone is increasingly frustrated.

He meets with Coulson again to debrief on the situation with Sitwell. It reminds him a bit of the old strategy meetings with the Commandos, which is a nice feeling, especially when Coulson commends him on how he handled the encounter. He mentions Stane’s insistence that Tony remain in California to Coulson, who cocks his head to the side with just the faintest flicker of surprise and promises to look into the matter.

Finally Tony comes home and Steve feels whole again. They don’t leave each other’s side for the whole weekend when he returns, and then it’s suddenly just a few weeks from the end of the semester. Tony is asked to give a speech at his graduation and he accepts with a devilish grin. It’s not something he would usually agree to, and Steve can tell he’s planning something questionable. 

Pepper sits with Steve during the graduation ceremony; Tony, Rhodey and the other graduates are seated in the front of the stadium. Obadiah Stane is seated on the stage alongside the school administrators. The president of the university gives a speech first, followed by the dean and a handful of other higher-ups from the university. It’s a blisteringly hot day and everyone is baking in the sun, especially the graduates in their black polyester robes. The provost finishes his speech after twenty-five agonizingly long minutes and as he clears the stage, Tony takes his place at the podium. His robe is zipped open to show the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath - ENGINEERS DO IT WITHOUT A MANUAL, it declares. His square cap is very much askew and his hands are tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans. He has no notecards; it seems like he’s just speaking off the cuff, though Steve knows that is not the case, that there are years of experience and practice behind his easy speaking style.

“Hi everyone. I’m gonna keep this short because it’s a hot day and you shouldn’t have to be roasting out in the sun listening to us windbags blather on from this nice shaded stage. I’ll confess that I don’t really know why they asked me to give the keynote speech, other than maybe the fact that I am so very awesome. For those of you who have been living under a rock and don’t know who I am, my name is Anthony Stark, I am the heir to Stark Industries, and I just turned 19 last week, making me the youngest person to be awarded a master’s degree from this fine institute. Well, two master’s degrees, actually, but who’s really counting anyway.  
So why am I giving this speech? No idea. There’s not really a lot of wisdom I can impart on you, after all, seeing as how you are _all older than me_ and therefore probably - hopefully - more mature than I am.  
You all probably also had to work a lot harder than I did to get to this point. Some might say I’ve had everything dished out to me on a silver platter. That’s not quite true - I generally prefer stainless steel, it’s a much cooler metal. But they’re kind of right - this all was a walk in the park for me. Sorry, Professor Collins. But we’re not just here for the academics, are we? College is supposed to be a time when we learn the real life lessons, when we figure out who we really are. And that’s not just something you learn in class, those are the things we learn from each other. From your best friend, who picks you up when you’re at your lowest and keeps pushing you through the hard times until you finally face your demons and venture back out into the world. From the people that push you to be a better person, to rethink the way you used to see the world, to be more. From the people you love, and the people who love you. And if you’re really lucky, those are the same people.”

He leans in close to the microphone, drops his voice low and breathes “Hi Steve” into the mic before he steps back again and continues.

“So what have I learned in my time here? Take what you have been given and do the most you can with it. Because who knows - you just might find happiness along the way. Go forth and fight for what you believe in, don’t be afraid to stick up for yourself, and stay true to who you are. Unless you can be a unicorn, then for fuck’s sake, be a unicorn.”

The crowd is silent for a moment, and Tony puts on an innocent face. “Oops, I said a bad word. Sorry, Provost Revitt!”

Then the crowd erupts in laughter and thunderous applause, and one by one people start to rise until the entire stadium is standing.

Tony is grinning from ear to ear, but his eyes never leave Steve’s. He points at Steve and winks before he turns and steps off the stage. 

***

The gear in the workshop has already been packed up and moved to New York and the loft is nearly empty except for the bare necessities. Like the kegerator and the sound system, of course.

The official-unofficial theme of the party is “TRASH THE PLACE”, Tony has declared, and everyone seems to have taken that to heart. Steve and his artist friends are busily spray-painting a mural on the long bare walls of the workshop while the engineers have actually managed to turn one of the steel workbenches into a slide that goes from the roof into a pit of packing peanuts on the terrace. 

Steve is covered in spray paint and Tony has bits of styrofoam clinging to just about every part of his body when they eventually wind up standing next to each other, leaning on the terrace railing and basking in the bustle of the party. There’s a raucous game of flipcup being carried out off to their left and in the far corner of the terrace, Rhodey and Pepper are wrapped up in a tight embrace.

Steve nods in their direction. “Looks like they’re getting things sorted out.” He’s glad to see his friends happy.

“It’s about time. Speaking of getting things sorted,” Tony says as he shifts to face Steve and slots himself between his legs, their bodies pressed against each other, “I’m glad we don’t have to worry about your ‘uncle’ anymore. I am totally going to trot you out all over Manhattan like the gorgeous arm candy that you are.” He nuzzles a soft kiss just under Steve’s jaw. 

They had never really talked about moving to New York together, Steve had just noticed a shift in how Tony talked about the future after he returned from California. “When we’re in New York...” he’d say. Before he had reached the tenuous truce he now has with Sitwell, Steve had assumed he would stay in Boston while it was always clear that Tony would be moving to New York since Stark Industries is headquartered there. The issue of how that would affect their relationship had been a bit of a white elephant for a while. But that had since been resolved and Tony had simply started making plans, though Steve went with them happily. Tony had even gone so far as to hire Steve as a graphic designer without really asking him, he had just dropped an SI employee badge on Steve’s drafting table one day along with a contract of employment and said “Here, sign this.” They’d agreed on a part-time position in the end; Steve wanted to have time for his art. Tony had at least offered the job to Pepper formally, even if that conversation hadn’t exactly followed standard HR conventions either. They had been out to celebrate Tony’s birthday when Pepper had mentioned that she couldn’t stay long because she had an early flight to Chicago the next morning for a job interview. Rhodey had frowned about that - he was going to be stationed at the Air Force base in New Jersey. 

_“Nope, we can’t have that,” Tony had objected when he saw Rhodey’s look. “Not acceptable. Chicago is even colder than Boston, and life without Pepper is just too bland. Hey, you know what, I think Stark Industries could use a bit of spicing up.”_

_“What are you talking about, Tony?”_

_“I’m talking about you and me, Ms. Potts. Whaddya say?” He said it with a waggle of his eyebrows._

_“I think I might have to object to that,” Steve said drily and Rhodey nodded in agreement._

_“I think I might also have to object to that,” Pepper parroted._

_Tony flicked a napkin at Rhodey. “That’s not what I meant, you losers. What I meant was: Come work for me. I can make you my executive assistant, officially, but we both know you’d be more like my second-in-command.”_

_Pepper was clearly surprised by the offer and opened and closed her mouth a number of times before responding. “Wow, Tony, I don’t know what to say…”_

_“Well, yes, for starters, maybe followed by ‘you’re amazing, Tony Stark, there’s no one more awesome in the world than you.’” He put on a high-pitched voice for the last part._

_“Let’s not get carried away…” Rhodey said as he flicked the napkin back._

Steve tightens his arms around Tony as he remembers that evening. “I’m glad too,” he says warmly. 

***

Almost all of the Steve’s boxes have already been moved into the house. He didn’t have too much to bring - none of his furniture was worth taking, and they certainly don’t need his dishes or the old TV he had bought used through Craigslist - so it’s mostly art supplies. Tony has generously designated one of the sitting rooms as Steve’s new painting studio. It has floor-to-ceiling windows that open out onto the patio, with spectacular light in the morning hours, and Steve loves it, even though he will miss being in the same room as Tony while they work. He has just grabbed a particularly full box of paints from the van when a voice pipes up behind him.

“Not that I mind watching you bend over and getting all sweaty, but we have movers, you know. People being paid to do this kind of stuff.”

Steve shrugs. “I like to feel useful. And I know you’re secretly loving it.”

“Oh, not secretly, Steven, definitely not a secret. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take a break from that and we can go assemble the bed?” he says with a wink.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I know. No, but seriously, there is something I need to show you.” He turns and heads into the house, so Steve puts down the box and scrambles to follow him. He expects Tony to lead him to their new bedroom, but instead Tony turns left down the corridor and stops in front of one of the rooms Steve has never been inside. Tony hesitates for a moment before he unlocks the door. He gestures for Steve to step into the room, then closes the door behind them before he flicks on the light.

It’s a large room with built-in bookshelves all along the walls. There’s a desk in the center, just in front of the bay window. Judging by the dust on the furniture and in the air, it’s been a long time since anyone has been in here.

“This was my dad’s office,” Tony explains. As if he could read Steve’s mind, he adds “Obie and I are the only people who have keys to this room. But even Obie doesn’t know about this…”

His voice trails off as he runs his fingers along the underside of one of the shelves. His hand stops and he presses something, then he pulls one of the books. It tilts back and there’s a pneumatic hiss as the bookshelf slides back and aside.

“I always carry an umbrella,” Steve murmurs to himself. Tony sends him a questioning look, so he shrugs. “There was a door like this at the SSR site where I had the procedure. Where I first met Howard.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Secret door, Steve. It’s a frikking _secret door_! Can you please at least pretend to be impressed?!”

He ducks his head and looks up at Tony with his most bashful face. “Sorry, sweetums. Yes, wow. Secret door. Never seen anything like it before. My mind is blown.”

Tony throws up his arms in exasperation and huffs. “That’s the only thing getting blown today, jerk. Anyway, come along, I need you to see this.”

An iron spiral staircase leads down into what looks like a bunker. The walls here are lined with shelves as well, and those are stuffed with archival boxes except for one row at the far end, which has shelves that look more like display cases. Tony flips on the light switch, illuminating their contents.

There’s one of the early Captain America uniforms, a helmet of his, the dented heater shield that the Red Skull had punched, even the dress shirt he had been wearing before the procedure. A pull-out drawer holds a copy of his SSR file, another has stacks of old Captain America comics. There are reels upon reels of films along with newspaper clippings and posters advertising the Captain America bond sales shows across the country.

Steve feels his throat go dry as he takes it all in. “This is - wow. Howard did this?”

Tony nods. “Yeah. He collected everything about Captain America that he could get his hands on. He never gave up looking for you.”

_Then how come he didn’t know they had found me?_ Steve asks himself. He runs his fingers over the glass on the drawer that holds his file. It’s locked. Tony sees him doing it and pulls out a ring of keys. He flicks through the keys until he finds the one that fits and lifts open the glass.

“He never let me touch any of this stuff. Just used to bring me down here sometimes when he was in a mood and tell me all about the great Captain.” There’s a hint of disdain in Tony’s voice and he’s leaning against the shelf with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Tony-” Steve starts, but Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“I just needed you to see this, to know that this is here. Sorry if it’s weird for you.”

And suddenly it hits Steve how it must have been for Tony when he had finally told him the truth about his past. He had been so wrapped up in his own worries that he hadn’t really paid too much attention to what was going on with Tony. Of course they had been so far apart, and Tony rarely let what he was truly feeling shine through on the phone. He had been happy to accept that Tony had forgiven him for not telling the truth and to move on.

But now he could see what Tony had really been working through while he was stuck in California. As if it wasn’t bad enough that his boyfriend had lied to him, his boyfriend was also the man behind the stories his father had told him, the man that his father compared him to and said he didn’t live up to. It’s a wonder Tony hadn’t dumped him on the spot.

Steve carefully puts the file back in the drawer before he ends up accidentally crumpling it and closes the lid. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Tony, I-” he starts again, but Tony cuts him off again.

“You don’t have to say anything, Steve. I needed to show you this because I wanted you to know that Captain America has always held a special place in the Stark family, even back then. Obviously I didn’t know about your story when we got together, but I know this now: you are every bit the man that my father talked about. Hell, I’d build a shrine to Steve Rogers too.”

Steve lets out a quiet laugh at that. “This isn’t Steve Rogers,” he says, gesturing to the cabinets, “this is Captain America.”

Tony steps forward and takes his hand. “I know. I like Steve Rogers way better. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I may perhaps have had a bit of a crush on Captain America when I was a kid. Actually, that’s how I first realized I was also attracted to guys.”

Steve laughs at that, loudly this time, and Tony tugs him back towards the stairs. “Come on, it’s lunchtime.”

***

They’ve been living in New York for a few months and have mostly settled in. The majority of the renovations on the house that they had planned have been completed. Tony used the opportunity of having the house rewired to also install the AI system he had started working on back in Boston. The disembodied voice takes a bit of getting used to at first for Steve, but it grows on him and he finds himself relying on JARVIS more and more.

“Pep, what’s on your mind?” Steve asks, leaning over to lay his hand over hers.

It has the desired effect of pulling her out of her thoughts and she looks up at him. Steve had invited her out for lunch because he had noticed that she had been quieter than usual lately. He knows it’s because Rhodey shipped out a few weeks ago, and he also knows personally the importance of having support from friends at a time like this.

She smiles meekly. “Oh, you know, my boss is an asshole.”

Steve laughs at this. “Don’t I know it…”

She goes back to pushing her salad around her plate.

“Pep,” he starts again, “I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. You know I’m here for you, right? Anytime. Just give me a call and I’ll drop everything to come over and eat ice cream while we watch reruns of Friends.”

She takes his hand in hers. “Thank you, Steve. I really appreciate it.” She takes a deep breath and picks up her fork again. “Now let’s get back to gossiping about the boss. How are you settling in together?”

“We’re settling in pretty well,” Steve says, and he means it for the most part. Ironically he sees less of Tony although they now live together, which is the result of the long hours Tony works. Now that he’s out of school, Stane has been pushing him to develop more new products, so even when Tony does come home, he often heads down to his basement workshop in the evenings. Steve has taken to bringing dinner down to the workshop for him and watching him as he works - sometimes that’s the only way he gets to see his boyfriend all day. Even then, he has a nagging feeling that there’s something on Tony’s mind, something he isn’t telling him.

“Did something happen that triggered this?” Pepper asks when he tells her this.

He catches himself frowning as he thinks back. It happened a few days after Tony showed him Howard’s collection, so it probably isn’t related to that. The first time he noticed it, he had come back from his morning run, half-expecting to find Tony still asleep. Instead, Tony had been sitting at the island in the kitchen, doing the “I’m staring into my Cheerios like they contain the answers to the universe” thing. He had barely reacted when Steve had come in to say hi and grab something to drink, so Steve had resorted to his fall-back mood gauge: “I’m gonna hit the shower...” But Tony had just mumbled “Have fun,” which is how Steve knew something was up. Tony’s usual response would have been to scramble to his feet and join him. Now that he’s reflecting on it, Steve recalls that the door to Tony’s old bedroom had been open and that Tony had mentioned wanting to clean it out. Maybe something he had found in there had triggered it? Or maybe it had reminded him that Steve had lied to him about his past.

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t see that being it. He always talks so fondly of you at the office. Well, as fondly as Tony talks about anything that doesn’t need oiling or programming, that is,” she adds with a warm smile.

“So you don’t think he’s getting tired of me?”

Pepper actually laughs at him for suggesting it. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all. I think he may just be stressed. Mr. Stane has been putting a lot of pressure on him lately.” 

***

Whatever was bothering Tony passes soon enough and although they both keep busy working schedules, they do manage to find time for each other again. Now that their relationship is public, Tony insists despite Stane’s protests on bringing Steve as his date to Stark events, and Steve finds, to his own great surprise, that he actually kind of enjoys them. He likes getting to see Tony the businessman in action and he can retreat to a corner to people-watch with Pepper if he needs to. At one such event, Stane mentions that at least now Tony doesn’t spend the whole evening trying to find someone to take home or drink the entire bar dry but actually more or less does what he’s supposed to, which is the closest thing to a compliment Steve has ever heard from the man.

These events also give him a chance to make a lot of contacts in the art world. There’s a steady stream of demand for his artwork, enough that he could even leave his job at SI, but he enjoys going in to the office twice a week and working with like-minded people.

Everything seems great, but something is missing. Steve isn’t sure what - he has everything he should want, after all. Until one day he’s walking home after a day at the museum with Natasha and sees a tourist couple getting their pockets picked. He steps in to stop it, of course, and that’s when realizes what he has been missing. He may not be Captain America anymore, but Steve Rogers had always stood up against bullies, even when he was just the little guy. It’s that old feeling of not contributing, not doing his part for the greater good.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! This chapter was trying to kill me, I think. Plot is hard, guys...  
> LOTS of thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments, and also a huge THANK YOU to orbingarrow for the feedback and cheerleading :-)  
> Feel free to stop by [my tumblr](http://imafriendlydalek.tumblr.com/) for updates on my writing projects and stuff.

“Here guys, I come bearing dinner,” Steve announces his presence in the workshop. He’s learned not to enter quietly when Tony is in “the zone” - he did wait one time to see how long it would take for Tony to notice, but after 45 minutes he had gotten hungry and given up. 

Tony and Natasha are both standing in the middle of the open area surrounded by the blue and red light of a holodisplay. It’s a new bit of tech Tony started working on after they moved to New York, and even despite that phase Tony had gone through in which _everything_ was holograms, after over a year it still takes Steve’s breath away to see entire scenes rendered solely in light. The holographic image in the room now of an overturned car and wreckage strewn about means that Tony has decided to revisit his parents’ death again.

“Ohmygod, I love you,” Tony groans as he shoves a forkful of macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

The corners of Natasha’s mouth also quirk in a smile. “Yes, Steve, love all around.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Scary Secret Agent Lady is trolling me, Steve. Make her stop.”

Steve spreads his hands. “Like anyone could make Natasha do something she doesn’t want to,” he replies with a slight huff. “What are you guys working on?”

“Well, I wanted to put the holodisplays through their paces, and Natasha managed to get her hands on the specs from the, you know, the crash, so…” his voice trails off before he jumps to his feet again. “Here, look at this.”

He pulls up a section of the display - literally, he makes a pulling motion and it rushes towards him, now zoomed in close to the area on the ground behind the car. “What do you see?”

There’s a faint imprint in the ground, like something had been there when the tire rolled over it.

“It looks like a morning star.” Steve swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “I’ve seen them before - they’re little spiky explosives.”

“Bingo. See, the investigators thought the tire blew as a result of the crash, but what if that was what caused it? A tire blowing at 67 miles an hour is more than enough to cause a crash like that, especially with a blood alcohol content like dad had.”

Steve pulls the image of the impression closer. JARVIS inverts it to show what the explosive would have looked like, and Steve studies it closely. “I didn’t know these were still around. Hydra used them in the war to lay mines behind their convoys.”

“Maybe someone was intentionally using old tech because no one’s looking out for it anymore,” Natasha suggests.

Tony’s head spins around to look at her. “You think this was Hydra? I thought they were long gone?”

Steve lets his head slump to his chest. “So did I.”

“I think I need to go talk to Coulson.” Natasha gathers her jacket and heads for the door. “See you boys. Thanks for dinner, Steve.”

“Bye Natasha,” Steve calls, but she’s already gone.

Steve’s mind is racing - if this is true, it would mean that Hydra is still active. Suddenly everything he fought for, what he had given up his [old] life for, seems like it was for naught.

Tony, meanwhile, is completely still, his arms folded across his chest and his gaze focused on his feet. Then his head snaps up and he rolls his stool over to one of the cabinets. After rummaging through a drawer, he crosses the room again and runs a hand over Steve’s arm.

“Here. I, uh, I found this in my old room a while back, behind that poster. I guess he left it there so I would find it.” Tony presses a small sheet of paper into Steve’s hand. He recognizes Howard’s tight, neat handwriting instantly.

_Sometimes the things we create become something different from what we intended. Sometimes you build something that works correctly and looks great on the outside, but you only realize too late that on the inside, it’s broken. You try to fix one part and another ten problems spring up in its place._

“You never showed me this. How come?”

Tony shrugs.

“You thought he meant you, didn’t you? That he thought you were broken?”

He studies his hands, which Steve knows means yes.

Steve reads the note again, studying it carefully. Howard had taken the time to write the date on it, so he clearly knew it would be important. And he was certainly right - it’s dated the day before he died. But what really gets Steve’s attention are the words hastily scrawled at the bottom, almost illegible: _SHIELD YOURSELF._

“I think he knew,” Steve finally says. “I think he was trying to warn you about Hydra.”

Tony looks up at him.

“Cut off one head and two more take its place - that’s the Hydra motto. ‘Fix one part and ten problems spring up in its place,’ Howard wrote. I think he was trying to warn you about them.” His voice catches. “Christ, and here I’ve gone and dragged you into all this. If there’s one person Hydra will want to go after, it’s me.”

“This is not your fault, Steve. This is not because of you. You’re the reason I know about this at all.”

“You told me that Howard never stopped looking for me. But SHIELD found me two years before he died and he never mentioned it, so he couldn’t have known. Which means-”

“They kept it from him.”

“Exactly. But why?”

“He would have wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah. Maybe they were worried that one of us would figure out whatever it is they don’t want us to know.”

Tony is silent.

“Maybe Howard did figure it out. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he put this where he did, behind a Captain America poster of all places.”

“But what does that have to do with Hydra?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer and shuts it again. He has no idea. That’s the missing piece, the link they need to find. 

***

“We have a very special guest this evening. One of the brightest young minds in the country, one of the richest men in the world, and most importantly, two-time winner of the rankings “Hottest 25 Under 25” - please welcome Tony Stark!”

Loud cheering and applause erupts from the audience as Tony steps onto the stage. He bows dramatically and blows kisses to the crowd - there’s a catcall from an audience member and he points in the direction it came from and winks. After greeting the host, he settles into the chair, tucking his Converse-clad feet under his legs.

“So,” the host starts after the requisite ‘Good to have you here’ ‘Great to be back’ greetings, “it’s official - you’re still number one.” He holds up a copy of the magazine that has bestowed the title on Tony once again. The cover is a photo of Tony winking.

Tony smirks. “Buddy, I will _always_ be number one.” The crowd laughs and there are more catcalls. “Seriously though, I’m only 20 now, so I’ve got a few more years of eligibility.”

“Speaking of eligibility, you’ve been with your partner Steve for a while now -”

“Yeah, a little more than two years.”

There’s an _awwww_ from the crowd and Tony smiles. “He hasn’t come to his senses yet. Poor guy.”

“You two recently made a fairly important announcement, didn’t you?” the host asks, followed by catcalls from the audience.

“Yeah, we did. A few weeks ago. It’s pretty exciting. Steve is now the director of the Maria Stark Foundation, so he oversees all the Stark charity activities. He’s much better suited for it than I am, that’s for sure.”

“Speaking of suited...”

“Oh geez. What are you about to show me?”

“Here, can we pull that up? Have you seen this? It’s a website dedicated to him run by some people who seem to believe that he’s a bit more... super than he lets on.”

The image from the website shown on the monitor has a picture of Steve coming out of a grocery store on the left. He’s wearing a blue hoodie over a button-down shirt with broad red and white vertical stripes. A plastic shopping bag is slung over his wrist; it has a big red star in the center. Next to it is a picture of Captain America taken during the war, shield held in front of him in the same position as that shopping bag.

Tony lets out a giggle and smacks his knee. “Oh that’s good.”

“Apparently his name was also Steve Rogers.”

“Fun fact, actually: Did you know that Rogers is sixty-something in the list of most common last names in America? And Steven was the 18th most common name for men in the 2000 census? There are actually seven Steven Rogerses - Rogerses? would that be the plural? Rogeri? - anyway, there are seven working for Stark Industries, nine if we count the ones who spell it Stephen with a PH. But I’m only shacking up with one of them,” he adds with a broad grin. 

“The resemblance is pretty uncanny, though.”

“It kind of is. Have you seen the one of Nick Cage who looks like a soldier from the Civil War? I like that one.”

“Oh, that’s a good one too. So I hear you’re building a new headquarters in New York.” 

“Yeah... I’m really excited about that. Big tower, everything in one place…” And with that, he sets off talking about the planned tower and the subject is changed. 

Steve leans back into his seat in Tony’s dressing room. Two years ago, even the thought of something like this being mentioned so publicly would have triggered a cold sweat and heart palpitations, not to mention the paranoia. His heart rate is elevated now, that’s for sure, but he feels pretty calm about it. Tony handled it expertly, of course, and while he knows that he’ll get an angry call from Sitwell about this, he also knows that Coulson and Natasha are looking out for him.

***

Surprisingly, Sitwell, while he’s certainly far from thrilled, is not as upset about the interview as Stane is. The big man bursts into Tony’s office the Monday after; Steve is genuinely there on business, having just brought Tony some new design layouts for approval, but Stane looks even less happy when he spots Steve.

“Are you _trying_ to ruin this company?!” he booms at Tony.

Tony leans back in his swivel chair nonchalantly and arches an eyebrow. “What have I done now?”

“You think it’s a coincidence, you going on about your little… thing,” he gestures between Tony and Steve, still unwilling to call it a relationship, “on television and the share price taking a dive the next day?”

“No, I think that was because of the thing in Basra that’s dragged down the share price of every company in our industry,” Tony shoots back pointedly. “And if you let us diversify our product range like I keep saying, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

Stane looks like he’s about to explode. “I can barely get you to focus on one project long enough as it is.”

“I’ve churned out more projects in the past year than I did in the three years before that. It’s not my fault you don’t see most of them fit for development.”

“Maybe you should try developing things that fit our company’s direction. You know, I never had this problem with your father. Any concept I gave him, he’d make it happen.”

Steve can see a look of hatred flicker in Tony’s eyes at the comparison to his father, and Steve reaches over to place a steadying hand on Tony’s arm. Tony pushes his hand away and the holoframe on the desk is knocked over in the process.

Stane’s murderous glare shifts to focus on Steve. “And what the fuck is Butterfingers doing here, anyway? Besides distracting you.”

“He works here, and his name is Steve,” Tony fires back. “Butterfingers is in the workshop.”

“Which is where you should be.”

“Actually, You is there too. As is Dummy.”

Stane throws a file with schematics onto Tony’s desk. “Here. Make it happen. We need this. You have two months.”

Tony picks up the file as Stane turns and storms out of the office. “What, are we terraforming now?” he calls after Stane, but he’s already out the door.

Tony is clearly frazzled, but Steve knows neither of them has their own anger under control enough for him to be any comfort to Tony at the moment. “I, uh, I’d better leave you to it. I’ll see you at the house later, okay?”

“Yeah, later,” he says without looking up from the file.

Steve closes the door carefully behind himself and is on his way to the elevator when he hears Stane’s muffled voice from behind the door of the copy room, which strikes Steve as an odd place for Stane to be, so he doesn’t feel guilty about stopping to listen.

“The seed has been planted, it should ripen in eight weeks.”

_Strange_ , Steve thinks. _He’s definitely not the gardening type._

“Yes, I’ll make sure it gets enough water. Plenty of hydration.” Stane sounds pleased with what he seems to think was a joke. The knob on the door starts to turn, so Steve quickly ducks into the men’s room until he hears Stane’s heavy footsteps make their way down the hall to the elevator.

***

Steve leans against the doorframe as he watches Tony at work in his lab. He hasn’t come up to bed the last three nights, which tells Steve that he’s too wrapped up in the project to think about his basic needs. He probably also hasn’t had any food other than Dummy’s questionable smoothies.

“Tony,” he says tentatively, waiting for him to look away from the screen. “Come have some dinner, get some sleep.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively and turns back to the calculations. “Can’t. Need to get this done.”

Steve pushes himself off the doorframe and crosses the room to where Tony is sitting and cards his fingers through his dark hair. “Come on, babe.”

Tony swats his hand away, more insistent now. “Can you just not? I’m working.” His words are terse and snappy. 

“And stop frowning at me,” he adds without looking. “I can _feel_ you frowning at me.”

“You need to sleep, Tony. This isn’t healthy.”

With an angry groan, Tony spins on his stool to face Steve. “What I _need_ is to finish this so I can get Obie off my back. Then I can think about sleeping.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and leans back against the table. So there it is, the real reason Tony has been pushing himself. 

He glances over at the schematics on the screen. It’s clearly a missile, something long-ranged. “Is this what he came to your office about last month?”

“Yeah.”

“That looks like it could do a whole lot of damage in the wrong hands.”

“It could prevent a lot of damage when used properly,” Tony shoots back.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. He knows first-hand how often weapons trade hands in war. But he also knows that this isn’t the time to have this discussion, not when Tony is so sleep-deprived.

“Look, Steve, I just need to get this done, and in two months, after I turn 21 and I can take control of the company, then we can argue about the things Stark Industries manufactures.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve straightens and walks towards the door. He lingers before leaving the room, watches Tony turn back to the screen and resume tapping away on his keyboard. It’s not the first time they’ve had this argument, and it probably won’t be the last, he reflects. He knows the amount of pressure Tony is under from all sides - from Stane, from the board, from the shareholders, from the government and from the public eye - and he wishes with every fiber of his being that he could help ease that pressure, but this is the fact of Tony’s life, the weight of the legacy that he was born into.

He’s still lying awake when the bed dips as Tony slips in behind him in the early morning hours. An arm slides over his stomach and pulls him close, Tony’s chin bumping his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I was a dick earlier,” Tony mumbles into his neck.

Steve brushes his fingers over Tony’s forearm. “That makes two of us.”

There’s a long silence, then Tony exhales slowly. “Everything I do, no matter what it is, people are always going to compare me to my father. I’m just this big disappointment to everyone.”

Steve rolls over so he’s facing Tony and places a hand on his cheek. “Hey now. Listen to me. You are not a disappointment.”

Tony closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, his gaze is fixed on Steve’s thumb. “It’s just, everyone expects me to be like him. But they just knew Howard Stark the legend, not Howard Stark the man. I don’t want to be like him.”

“Tony, when I knew your father, he was just about your age now. And he was a good man, then. I know - please, let me finish - I know he wasn’t like that always, but he was then. I know it’s not something you like to hear, but it is true in a lot of ways: you are so much like he was. Like he was then. Just because he changed, because the man he became later was so very different from that, it doesn’t mean that you have to follow in his footsteps. It doesn’t mean you will become just like him. Dr. Erskine told me, the night before the procedure, the day before he died, not to be the perfect soldier, but to be a good man. That’s true for you too, Tony. You don’t have to be who everyone else thinks you should be just because those are the footsteps your father laid out. You can choose to follow your own path, and follow your own heart. You said it yourself: Be a fucking unicorn.”

Tony’s gaze finally meets his and he smiles weakly. “Yeah, I did say that. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

***

Steve is at his desk at Stark Industries a few weeks later, bent over the concept drawings he’s working on. An eerie silence spreads through the design department and he looks up to find out the cause for it.

Tony is making his way down the rows of desks towards him. Tony has only come down here once before, on Steve’s first day, so his colleagues are justifiably surprised. He laughs to himself when he sees everyone scrambling.

“Oh oh, the boss is on his way,” he says jokingly, “everyone look busy.”

“I already saw at least four of you playing FarmVille,” Tony says with a shrug as he reaches Steve’s desk. “At least play something good!” 

Steve tugs Tony down by the tie and pulls him close for a kiss. “Hey boss, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I’m here to take you out for lunch.”

“Tony, it’s three thirty. I’ve already eaten.” Something must be up, he knows: Tony usually just calls down and tells Steve to meet him in the lobby. The design office is pretty far out of his way. “But,” Steve says, clapping his thighs before he moves to get up, “I could definitely go for a mochaccino.”

Tony rolls his eyes dramatically. “You are a coffee philistine. Actually, scratch that. Just a heathen. That sugar froth you like cannot even be considered coffee anymore.”

He follows Steve down the hall but pulls him into the first empty conference room they pass.

“Hey now,” Steve says as he’s pushed against the door, “the walls are just glass.”

Tony pulls away. “Not what I’m here for, actually. Surprisingly.” He runs a hand through his hair like he always does when there’s something on his mind.

“What’s up, Tony?”

He pulls away and suddenly it feels like he’s half a yard away or maybe in a different world. He looks up and his eyes are wild and unfocused.

“I have to go present the Jericho missile, the thing I’ve been working on.”

“Okay… When?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, well, Pepper and I can handle the planning for your birthday blowout, don’t worry about it.”  
“In Afghanistan.”

“Wait, what?”

“I have to present it. In Afghanistan.”

“Shiiiiit,” Steve hears himself say as he slumps down into the nearest chair.

“Obie says we have to present it where it will be used,” he hears Tony say.

***

It’s the night before Tony leaves for Afghanistan, and there’s no way Steve is going to be able to sleep. “I should be going with you,” he says into the darkness. 

Tony rolls so his body is half-sprawled across Steve’s and props himself up onto his elbow. He traces Steve’s exposed collarbone with his free hand. “You would make an excellent grandmother. Level 10 Fretting Skill. You are absolutely adorable when you worry.”

Steve frowns. “This isn’t funny, Tony. Afghanistan is dangerous.”

“It’ll be fine. Rhodey’ll be there with, like, three platoons of military escorts. Plus you’ve seen enough of war for at least one lifetime.”

***

The call comes from Pepper. He knows as soon as he hears her faltering voice that something is wrong.

“Steve,” she says, “something happened to Tony.”

His stomach lurches, bile rising in his throat. His ears are ringing from his racing pulse. Only snippets of what Pepper is saying filter through - “convoy was attacked”... “not among the survivors”... “haven’t found a body”... “don’t know where”... “kidnapped”... “Steve”... “Steve”... “STEVE!”

He snaps back to attention, easing his grip on his phone. “Sorry, I - uh - I need…”

“It’s okay, Steve.” She wishes she could come over to be there for him, she explains, but she has to keep things running at Stark Industries. Rhodey is in Afghanistan and the military are doing everything they can to find him.

“I need to go, Pep,” he manages. He stumbles towards the door, pulling on his running shoes. “I need some air.”

“Sure, Steve. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything new. Take care of yourself, Steve,” she added.

“Thanks Pepper.” And, because he suddenly feels like he doesn’t say it nearly often enough “I love you, Pep. You’re a great friend.”

“You too, Steve.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Homestretch!  
> A world of thanks goes out to orbingarrow for virtual hand-holding, encouragement, reassurance and creative input, without which I would probably still be curled up in a corner glaring at this unwritten chapter.  
> Many thanks also to everyone who left kudos and comments, without which I would surely have taken much longer to write this chapter! It was a bit of a doozy.

He’s run halfway to Connecticut before he gets his thoughts under control enough and can face the idea of going back to the empty mansion. When he finally gets there, Agent Coulson and Natasha are waiting outside.

Natasha catches his eye and tilts her head slightly as she nods. He has no idea how she manages to convey sympathy, empathy and condolences in a simple nod and a warm smile, but she does and he admires her all the more for it.

“So you’ve heard, then.” He unlocks the door and gestures for the agents to follow him inside.

“We have. We understand that this is a difficult time for you, Captain Rogers.” 

“Yes. It is. Thank you.” He pours himself a glass of water from the kitchen faucet and downs it in one long gulp.

“The search and rescue efforts are being led by the military. I understand First Lieutenant Rhodes is closely involved. It’s outside SHIELD’s scope of operations, but we’ll be monitoring the situation closely and Agent Romanoff and I are on hand to provide support for you in any way we can.” 

“So you think Tony was ki- That he’s de-” He can’t bring himself to say it. He feels his stomach lurch and makes it to the sink just in time, heaving until his insides are empty. Natasha places a reassuring hand on his back.

“If that were the case, I think they would have found a body at the site.” Steve winces at the words, but Coulson continues. “It’s too early to know for sure, but we believe that Mr. Stark is being held hostage.” Coulson’s tone is as even as ever, which is actually really soothing.

***

He can’t stop thinking about the letter from Howard that Tony had found as he turns the words over again and again in his mind. It had to mean Hydra. But what was Howard trying to tell Tony? What was he trying to warn him about? And more so than the rest, those last two hastily scribbled words replay in his head, over and over: _SHIELD YOURSELF_.

With an exasperated sigh, Steve pushes himself out of the armchair he has basically been living in for the past three weeks and pads down the corridor. Natasha follows him without a word as he retrieves the keys from Tony’s safe and unlocks Howard’s office. She’s taken to coming over with takeout and sitting quietly with him. Sometimes they both just read (Steve pretends to read, at least; his mind is too wrapped up in his thoughts to process the words on the page), sometimes they play chess, other times they just let a movie run in the background. Natasha doesn’t talk a lot, and Steve really appreciates her silent company, but when she does speak, she always says exactly the right thing.

She raises an eyebrow ever so slightly when Steve pushes the spot on the shelf that makes the door slide back and open, the closest thing that she might let on to an indication of surprise. Steve runs his fingers along the boxes as he walks down the rows of shelves. He has no idea what he’s looking for, but if Howard left any other clues, they are bound to be here where he knew only Tony would find them. He pulls out his old SSR file, the one he’d been too distracted to look at closer last time he’d been down here with Tony.

Oh god, Tony.

His hands are shaking violently and the keys drop to the floor with a loud clatter. He lets himself sink down and sits, trembling, as Natasha runs her hands through his hair soothingly.

“I don’t know if I can go on without him,” he finally manages. “I don’t know if I want to.”

“Shh, Steve, shh. Tony is a fighter. He’ll hang in there, and we will find him. And anything we can find here about who might have taken him will bring us closer to bringing him home.”

And she’s right. She is absolutely right, he decides, as he pulls himself back to his feet and flips open the file.

It’s not so much a walk down memory lane, seeing his past life documented on yellowed paper in sparse words, as it is like being dragged down memory lane tied by the ankles. It’s all there: his five attempts to get recruited, Erskine’s notes on finding him, Colonel Phillips’ notes on his training at Camp LeHigh. He turns a page and a slip of paper falls out. _That’s strange_ , he thinks as he stoops to pick it up, _that doesn’t belong here_.

“I might have found something,” he says to Natasha. It’s a brochure touting the opening of a new octopus tank at the Aquarium in 2002. It obviously isn’t part of his file. “What do you think it means?”

Natasha purses her lips on a thin smile and nods towards the far wall. There’s a box on one of the lower shelves labeled Cephalopods. He sends her a questioning look and she shrugs. They both walk over to the box and she peers over his shoulder as he opens it. Inside are a few books on cephalopods, one on Greek mythology and a map of New Jersey. There’s a faint mark in pencil at the location of where Camp LeHigh used to be.

Natasha looks at him. “Road trip?”

He nods. “Road trip.”

When he comes outside with the car keys, Natasha is leaning against Tony’s Vantage and is just finishing up a phone call. “We need to make a stop on the way there,” she says mysteriously as they slide into the car. “You should take the Holland Tunnel.”

He follows her order and pulls out of the driveway heading downtown. “Why cephalopods, I wonder?”

Natasha huffs quietly at this. “You’re not really up on your Greek mythology, are you?”

“Um, I’m not an expert?”

“The Hydra, according to the myths, is a snake with lots of heads, but what is the symbol they use really?” Natasha is almost laughing now, and that’s when it sinks in. It’s a head with lots of arms. 

An octopus.

Steve bursts out laughing at the thought. It’s absurd, but so… Stark. Tony and his father are really more similar than Tony would ever want to hear - that’s exactly the kind of thing he would also be pedantic about. Now he can’t seem to bring himself to stop laughing, the kind of somewhat hysterical laughter that is really just a displacement for what he really wants to do, which is curl up and cry.

But crying won’t bring Tony back to him, he knows, and it won’t help them find out whatever it was that Howard died trying to figure out. He follows Natasha’s instructions solemnly and they end up in front of a rather non-descript old warehouse in Jersey City. The loading door opens and Steve drives in. His nerves are prickling, but he trusts Natasha’s lead.

“This isn’t exactly an inconspicuous car,” she points out as they get out, running her hand over the bright blue hood.

“I don’t think Tony owns _anything_ inconspicuous. Even the microwave talks these days.” He’s trying to lighten his mood with the joke, and it almost works.

Natasha leads him into the main warehouse area. It’s empty except for a few knocked-over shelves and old tables, with some old pieces of machinery rusting away in the corner. He hears footsteps coming from that corner and instinctively takes a protective stance. After all these years, he still reaches for his shield that isn’t there. Where has Natasha led him?

“So it is true,” a man’s deep voice rings out from behind the machinery before he steps out into the open. He’s wearing a long leather coat and a patch over one eye. One hand is holding a black messenger bag and the other is tucked casually into the pocket of his black pants. “America’s prodigal captain has returned.”

Steve glances over at Natasha, whose lips are quirked up in a slight smile. “Steve, this is Nick Fury, the director of SHIELD.”

The alarm bells are ringing in his head and he quickly scans the building for an escape route when Natasha places a hand on his wrist.

“He’s on our side, Steve.”

“I have something that belongs to you,” Fury says, holding out the messenger bag to him. “The question is, are you ready to take it?”

Steve takes the bag hesitantly. He pulls open the flap and feels a surge of emotion roll through his entire body when he looks inside. He feels his eyes start to water as he reaches in, his breath catches as his fingers brush against that so-familiar metal. He slides his arm into the straps, memories washing over him at the feel of the leather handle in his palm. He caresses the smooth surface of the shield’s face, a smile spreading over his face.

“Come on, Captain,” Natasha says with a genuine smile, “we’ve got a mystery to solve.”

***

It’s almost eerie how little Camp LeHigh has changed in the seventy-plus years since he went through basic training there, which is why the new bunker stands out so poignantly. They smash their way in and find the digital reincarnation of Zola, who confirms their suspicions that Hydra is still around, that Hydra was responsible for the death of Tony’s parents. Not only is Hydra still around, the Zola computer tells them, Hydra operates within SHIELD. 

“Well, that explains why Sitwell and his gang were keeping you off the main SHIELD radar,” Natasha says as she types a string of commands into the computer.

“Yes, and I’m afraid it will stay that way,” Zola computer says.

Natasha quirks a smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that.”

“You will be far too dead to do anything with that data.” As he says it, the doors burst open and a strike unit comes through, guns blazing. Steve only just manages to get his shield up and position himself in front of Natasha.

“Thanks Cap,” she says, still typing.

“No problem. Glad to be of help,” he replies as he kicks over one of the metal tables to provide some cover for them. He tosses the shield at one of the gunmen, who crumples as it hits him, his gun spraying bullets into the ceiling. The shield clatters to the floor a few feet away and he vaults over the table to collect it, ducking into a tight roll to avoid the spray of bullets before moving behind a concrete pillar. Another toss of the shield takes out two more, leaving three gunmen. 

“Shoulda left well enough alone, Rogers,” the biggest of them says.

Steve reaches into the pocket of the downed gunman and pulls out a grenade. “Not really my style,” he says as he pulls out the pin and tosses it towards the remaining gunmen.

They duck for cover and he hears one groan in agony as it goes off with a flash. 

The smoke is thick in the air as he leaps across the room, shield-first, onto the struggling agent. It connects with a _crunch_. He can hear Natasha fighting off another even while she’s still typing. One of the first agents to get knocked out is coming to and heading towards her; Steve throws the shield to knock him down again.

That’s when the big one grabs him from behind in a headlock. He tries to knock him off, but he has a firm hold. Steve crashes backwards into a pillar, smashing the agent behind him against it, but his hold does not loosen. He flips forward and the agent is dislodged, but the agent hooks his leg around Steve’s and knocks him onto his back. 

Steve kicks his legs forward and is back on his feet just in time to get a hard kick to the face. He staggers backwards, momentarily woosy, and is still regaining his bearings when the agent makes an agonized face and crumples. Natasha is standing behind him, a broad grin on her face.

“You looked like you could use a little help.”

“I almost had him.”

She shrugs, tosses a USB drive in the air and catches it, then turns towards the exit. “I didn’t feel like waiting. Come on, time to go. This place is gonna blow in a minute.”

***

“You know, blowing up an army bunker is not really what I would call keeping things quiet.” Director Fury is glowering at Steve and Natasha alternatingly, his nostrils flaring. They’re back at the warehouse and have just finished their debrief.

Steve could swear he just saw Coulson let out a muffled laugh.

“I’m putting together a team of my most trusted agents to analyze the data that Agent Romanoff and you were able to save,” Fury continues, “but there’s a lot of it, so it could take a long while. We need to assess the extent of the infiltration into SHIELD so that we can draw up a plan of action.”

He chafes at the thought of having to sit idly, waiting for the results. It felt good to get out there and do something, he reflects. He’s missed this. And it gave him something else to think about than what Tony must be going through right now.

“I need to do something, Director Fury. I can’t just sit around, knowing that Hydra is out there. It’s bad enough I can’t do anything to help Tony, but this, this is a fight I know how to fight. I need to go after them. I can’t stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

“I appreciate your fervor, Captain, and I share the sentiment, but we need to get a picture of how deep Hydra’s infiltration reaches in SHIELD before we can go in guns blazing.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I just had a computer tell me that the reason my life was hell for three years was because my handler was part of a rogue branch that exists within your organization, which you either did not know about or chose to let continue. Neither of those possibilities really gives me much reason to trust you while I sit around and wait.”

Fury glares at him with his one eye, and Steve glares back.

“I am a busy man, Captain Rogers. I have an international intelligence agency to run, so it’s a little hard to keep my eye on every pot we have a hand in. I knew you had been found, yes, but there was no way we could bring you back into society as Captain America, so I put your case in the hands of an agent that I thought to be capable of handling it as required. I became aware of his mishandling of the situation in 2005, which is why I asked Agent Coulson to look into the matter discreetly. Then Mr. Stark entered the scene, and we felt it would be best to stay in the background and see how things played out. Stark is certainly an advantageous player to have involved.”

It’s hard to resist the urge to punch something. “An advantageous player?!”

“You can’t deny that things would have played out very differently for you had it been anyone other than Tony Stark.”

“Tell me, Director, is there an advantage to him being missing now?” 

Fury sighs and folds his arms. “Of course not. But we wouldn’t have been able to locate this data without the information Howard Stark gathered and you found, and anyone less than you and Agent Romanoff would probably not have made it out of that bunker alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw. He’s starting to lose his patience for this. “Glad I could be of service, sir.”

Coulson pipes in. “We will act as quickly as we can. They sent in a strike unit, which means they knew that Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers were at LeHigh, and that they got out. It won’t be long before they find out that we have the data, and the way Hydra operates, they won’t be waiting around for us to come and get them. Which is why we will have our best people on this and will work as discreetly as possible.”

Steve reluctantly slouches into his chair. He gives a short nod of acknowledgement.

“Good,” Fury says, though he sounds less than enthused. “Oh, and we’re going to need to come up with a uniform for you to wear if we need to send you into the field again. Can’t have you fighting Hydra in jeans. Agent Coulson was kind enough to volunteer to give some input in the design.” 

***

Three months. Three months have passed since he disappeared, and there’s still no sign of Tony. The data from the Zola computer has been analyzed, the agents that have been shown to be part of Hydra have been apprehended, and Steve feels useless once again. He’d avoided going to the office at first because he couldn’t stand the looks of sympathy his co-workers were constantly giving him, but these days it’s better than being in that big empty house all day. His presence at Stark Industries also sends a message of hope to the other staff members, Pepper says, so he’s glad to be able to provide that, even if he’s struggling to stay hopeful as the days go by.

***

His phone is ringing.

It snaps him out of his thoughts and he realizes he’s been sitting catatonically at his desk all afternoon. The page in front of him is still blank.

It rings again.

He checks the caller ID - it’s a blocked number. “Rogers,” he answers.

There’s a slight crackling in the line. “Steve. It’s Jim.”

His heart sinks to his stomach at the sound of Rhodey’s voice. _Please no, please don’t say it_. 

“We found him, Steve. I’m bringing him back.”

There’s a commotion in the background, but Steve doesn’t process it as he feels his world falling apart. Again.

“Okay,” he manages meekly. 

“Alright, fine, hang on,” Rhodey says to someone in the background, then to Steve: “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

“Wait, what?” He’s about to add “He’s not dead?” when a familiar voice comes through the speaker.

“Hey sugarpie, you miss me?”

***

It’s a hot, uncomfortably humid, and Steve is standing on the sweltering tarmac, but he doesn’t even notice. The cargo door of the transport jet opens slowly, agonizingly slowly. His heart is pounding as he squints to see around it and catches a glimpse of Tony and Rhodey standing in the bay of the plane. He takes in the sight of Tony, limping slightly despite Rhodey supporting him, his left arm in a sling, and he feels his eyes start to water, his emotions pooling somewhere in his stomach. It’s just a few long strides up the ramp and finally he has Tony in his arms again. 

Tony is shaking all over; Steve holds him steady in their tight embrace. “I got you,” he whispers into Tony’s hair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. This was supposed to be the final chapter, but it was getting really long, so I decided to split it up. The final part should be up in the next few days!   
> You should read [Chapter 5 of the one-offs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4072786/chapters/9318162) after reading this chapter. It may or may not be relevant later...  
> A round of applause for orbingarrow for cheerleading, hand-holding and excellent ideas.  
> As always, thanks for reading, thanks for leaving kudos, thanks for leaving comments! For those who have asked, there *will* be a sequel! Stay tuned on [tumblr](http://imafriendlydalek.tumblr.com/) for updates.

Tony insists that they stop for cheeseburgers on the way home from the airport and Steve uses the time to tell him about getting his shield back and taking down Hydra. 

“You’ve been busy.”

Steve shrugs. “Had to keep my mind occupied.” He takes a big bite of his cheeseburger and grins.

“Unbelievable. I’m gone for three months and you turn an entire spy organization upside down.”

“They needed to make some changes.”

Tony shakes his head as he shoves a french fry in his mouth. “This is what I get for dating a super-soldier, I guess... Speaking of changes, actually, Pepper, I need you to call up a press conference.”

“A press conference? Don’t you think you should go to the hospital, get some rest?”

“Nope.” He pops the P. “I’ve got big plans.”

When they arrive at Stark Industries an hour later, Tony steps into the press room and promptly sits down in front of the podium.

“I never got to say goodbye to Dad,” he starts.

_Well this is going to be interesting_ , Steve thinks. Tony hasn’t been back more than three hours and has, in that time, carefully avoided telling him details of what happened to him and how he got out, but Steve can tell that whatever it was, it triggered something in him. He’s seen enough soldiers returning from battle to know not to push the matter yet, to know that the best he can do is be there for his partner.

“I came to realize,” Tony is saying, “that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries.”

That’s when Stane steps up to the podium and tries to interrupt Tony, who just keeps talking over him.

It’s definitely an interesting development. Tony had said to Steve in the past that he wanted to change things at SI once he turned 21, though this would certainly be a more radical change than Steve had anticipated. Might have something to do with spending his long-anticipated twenty-first birthday held hostage in a cave.

Tony steps down from the podium as Stane takes over and heads straight towards where Steve and Pepper are standing with their mouths somewhat agape. 

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” He’s looking up at Steve, his eyes darting around as if they’re searching Steve. Steve knows that look; that’s the look of insecurity.

He reaches out to take Tony’s hand and gives it a little squeeze. “I know that you are. I couldn’t be prouder of you, Tony.”

***

Tony is swept away into a management meeting directly after the press conference, which Steve suspects will mostly consist of Stane shouting about making impulsive announcements that could ruin the company. Steve paces up and down in the waiting area outside the meeting room, chewing his thumb. The receptionist sends him a sympathetic smile and he tries to force himself to relax.

He’s waited so long to have Tony back that the thought that a meeting is keeping him away from him now seems almost unbearable.

Except then a doctor arrives in the waiting area, sent by Pepper to give Tony a thorough check-up, so that’s where Tony gets taken after the meeting. He sends Steve an apologetic smile as he’s led into another room and the door is shut in Steve’s face again.

Coulson calls and asks for a debrief on the circumstances of Tony’s escape, but Steve manages to convince him to wait for another day.

The doctor strongly recommends rest for Tony, so he’s finally allowed to go home. Steve has been waiting all day for some time alone with Tony, but somehow the ride back to the mansion feels incredibly… awkward.

What do you say to your lover who just got home from a traumatic experience and may or may not have just thrown their life into a tailspin? ‘Hey, how about some dinner?’ Well, it’s worth a try.

“Hey, should we stop for some dinner?”

Tony is slumped against the car door, his only reaction a slight press of his lips.

“I think all of those burgers earlier might have been a poor choice,” he finally says quietly.

“Okay. That’s fine. You should probably get some rest anyway.” He catches himself smoothing the hem of his shirt over his thigh over and over again. He tucks his hands under his legs to stop them.

“Yeah,” is Tony’s only response.

They ride the rest of the way to the mansion in silence and that continues until Tony flops into bed with a groan and then a sharp hiss of pain.

Steve rushes to his side. “Tony, are you okay? Is it your arm?” 

Tony rolls over onto his back, one hand clutching the center of his chest. “No, it’s fine. It’s just…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes droop closed and he raises his other arm to cover his face.

Steve lies down on the bed and slots himself next to Tony. “Get some sleep, Tony. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Steve says, but Tony is already asleep.

As he lies there in the darkened room, watching Tony sleep, those words keep running through his head. What was he apologizing for? He had just done something incredibly courageous, and Steve is just incredibly glad and relieved to have him back. And why is he acting so strange? He had seemed happy to see him at the airport and in the car, but after that management meeting he was like a totally different Tony.

His mind is racing and he’s miles from sleep. What happened in that cave? What if Tony had some sort of change of heart?

His stomach is growling and he really wants to go down to the gym and beat his frustration out on the heavy bag, but he can’t bear the thought of leaving Tony’s side. He’d promised him he’d be there when he wakes up. He’s waited so long to have Tony back, he’s not about to leave his side now.

He’s alone in the bed when he wakes up. It’s early, but Tony’s side of the bed is already cold.

“JARVIS, where is Tony?”

“Sir is in the workshop, sir.”

Steve frowns at this. Tony is supposed to be resting. But he’s hardly surprised - Tony probably feels compelled to catch up on all the projects that have been sitting while he was gone.

‘While Tony was gone.’ That’s how he’s classifying that period of time in his head now. It’s like BC and AD. Or ‘before the serum’, ‘during the war’ and ‘since the ice’. Damn, when did life become so complicated?

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and heads down to the workshop, stopping in the kitchen to collect two cups of coffee from the pot JARVIS has kindly already brewed.

Tony and Dummy are hunched over the desk with their backs to the door. Tony is wearing the MassArt Ultimate hoodie he stole from Steve years ago, which is strange since it’s actually pretty warm in the workshop. Maybe he’s just grown used to the warmth of Afghanistan. Steve recalls with a shiver how much he hated the cold after he woke up from the ice.

“Hey,” he announces his presence. He tries not to be annoyed by how quickly Tony swipes away whatever he’s working on.

“Hey. Sorry, couldn’t sleep anymore.”

“It’s fine. I know how it is. Bed feels too soft. It gets better.” Steve sets down the mugs and moves towards Tony, a reassuring hand stretched out to him, but Tony steps back quickly, knocking into the desk as he does. He draws one hand up defensively, covering the center of his chest. That’s the second time in as many days that he’s done that, Steve catalogues in his head. He never did that before. Something is up.

“Obie wants me to lay low, let this blow over a bit, let the stock price recover. I’ve got plenty to catch up on here. Had some, uh, new ideas while I was stuck in that cave. Some stuff I gotta take care of.” Tony is scratching at the back of his neck and looking up at Steve through the hair falling into his face in that way he always does when he’s hiding something. The thought grates at him, but Steve knows not to push the matter yet. Tony will come around in time.

“I’d say you should be resting,” he says, going for a warm and casual tone, “but I know you won’t anyway. I’m gonna head to the gym and I’ll come down around lunchtime, we’ll go out for pancakes, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Tony says, but he’s not really listening anymore, his focus turned back to his computer screen.

Steve has just barely made it to the gym when Tony’s voice comes through the house speakers. 

“Hey Steve, can you come back here for a minute, actually?” He sounds… sad.

“Of course,” Steve replies, already turning around and jogging back down the stairs.

Tony is sitting on his stool facing the door. He’s hunched slightly, his hands folded in his lap. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you,” he says when Steve enters the room.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out.” He settles on the other stool a few feet from Tony.

“I just…” Tony looks down at his hands. “I’ve got so much blood on my hands. My weapons, they’re out there killing innocent people, killing American soldiers.”

He looks up at Steve, the question evident in his eyes. Whether he made the right choice.

It’s a tough call, really. People die because of Stark weapons, but without them, how many more would die? War won’t stop because Stark Industries has stopped making weapons.

“There will always be an arms race, Tony. I think you and I know that better than most people. The most advanced weapon in the first World War was mustard gas. It killed my father. In the second World War it was the A-bomb. And imagine if Erskine hadn’t been killed and if Schmidt had succeeded with his plans. We’d have legions of super-soldiers running around, and what would that do to society? I think it’s probably for the best it only worked once. It’s a slippery slope. What will it be next? Where will it end?”

“What if there was a way to end it? To end wars.”

Steve sucks in a deep breath. “I think humans will always be fighting each other. But if there were a way,” he adds, “I’d say sign me up.”

A fleeting smile crosses Tony’s face before he purses his lips together again. “I shouldn’t be alive. There’s a piece of one of my weapons clawing its way through my heart, and the only thing stopping it is this.” 

That’s when he pulls off his shirt. A round light shines brightly from the center of his chest. It’s set in a metal casing right where that dip in his sternum used to be, and the whole thing is encircled with scar tissue.

The sight of it startles him. Steve rolls over on his stool to look at it more closely. He’s not sure how to react yet. 

Tony flinches when Steve raises a hand slowly to touch it, so he drops his hand again.

“What is it?”

“It’s an arc reactor, like the one at the site in California, just I made it smaller.”

Steve blinks a few times, still not quite believing his eyes. “Tony, what happened over there?”

“There was an attack,” he starts to explain, and Steve sits in rapt silence as Tony tells him about the soldiers dying all around him, about the missile going off next to him, about Yinsen, about the Ten Rings, about the suit of metal.

“You made this out of spare parts?”

“Yeah.” Tony takes Steve’s hand in his and raises it to his chest. Steve must have a look of wonder on his face, because Tony asks “You don’t think it’s weird? Or ugly?”

“Tony, if nothing else, I love it for the fact that you are alive because of it, which means that I can have you back here, with me. But this,” he places a hand over the reactor, taking in how the light illuminates his fingers, “this is the most beautiful manifestation of your brilliant genius that I have ever seen.”

His eyes light up at that and he grins just before leaning over to kiss Steve.

Steve returns the kiss eagerly, relieved that Tony is finally no longer pushing him away.

On the contrary, Tony is pushing him, rather insistently, towards the couch. His hands are all over him, tugging his shirt over his head, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. Steve hasn’t seen this kind of enthusiasm from his lover since some of their more caffeine-fueled nights back in college.

Not that Steve is complaining. On the contrary, he voices his enthusiasm - rather loudly - when Tony bends him over the arm of the couch and runs a hand down his back and cups his ass.

Tony chuckles. “Miss me?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, leaning down to catch Steve’s mouth in a hard kiss before he pulls away in search of lube.

***

After that, Tony stops hiding the reactor. In fact, he takes to wearing shirts with a special cutout for it. Like the reactor is a badge he wears proudly, as if to say “Hey world, they tried to knock me down so I created something even more awesome.”

Steve watches in terrified silence as Pepper puts her hands into Tony’s chest and pulls out the loose wire so Tony can switch out the reactor he built in the cave with a new and improved reactor. He feels useless as his partner gasps from the shock when the wire touches the casing wall, and he feels terrible for poor Pepper. This kind of thing is definitely not in her job description. Steve wishes he could help, but his hands are too big.

He’s pretty sure he goes into cardiac arrest too when Pepper pulls out the magnet.

“It’s going to be okay, Tony,” Pepper is saying, but she’s just standing there, still holding the new reactor. 

“Can you please just put the thing in?” he snaps, running his hands through his hair. He immediately regrets his outburst - she’s doing her very best, and it must be harrowing for her too. He sends her an apologetic look and she nods in understanding.

“That’s actually what Steve said last night,” Tony says flippantly, rubbing his chest where the new reactor now sits.

They both glare at him.

“Thanks Pep,” Tony says as he gets up. He gives her arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re a life-saver.”

***

Tony goes back into “I’m doing science, I’ll be in my lab for the next few weeks” mode, which is fine with Steve because he has a show coming up at one of the west-side galleries so he’s spending most of his time in his studio. He does try to do his sketching in the lab with Tony when he can, not just because he likes being in the same space and it’s the easiest way to get to spend time with him when he’s in Science Mode but mostly because it’s incredibly amusing. Watching Tony work and listening to him speaking his inner monologues out loud is better than most comedy films.

His current project is pretty fascinating to watch take shape as well. He had showed Steve the specs of the suit of armor he had used to escape from the cave, which had been impressive in its own right, but this new version - Mark II, he’s calling it - makes the first version look like an old giant clunker. It’s sleek, it’s streamlined, it flies and it looks like a human-shaped Ferrari.

Steve had been thoroughly impressed by Dummy when he’d first seen the robot, and then Tony had created JARVIS. The miniaturized arc reactor is literally a work of genius, but this flying suit of armor completely boggles the mind. Steve finds himself wondering what could ever possibly top that, and he smiles at the thought that he will get to be there when Tony comes up with whatever that will be.

The suit is originally silver, but Tony takes one glance at Steve’s shield sitting on its base by the wall and announces that it needs more _oomph_. The first mock-up JARVIS displays is red and blue with the silver shining through.

“Eeeeeeeh, much too patriotic. We’ll leave the spangled Americana to the expert.”

Steve throws a pen in Tony’s direction. He giggles as he ducks and the pen hits the car behind him.

Tony straightens as he looks at the car. “Keep the red, J. Throw some gold in there.”

***

The suit sees its first practical use a few days later.

Natasha stops by the office with a folder for Tony. It contains surveillance photos taken in a town called Gulmira - Tony’s head snaps up when she mentions the name. 

“That’s where Yinsen was from.”

The photos show stacks upon stacks of Stark Industries crates as well as the Jericho missile in the hands of the Ten Rings. They also show villagers being driven out of their homes.

Tony’s already getting to his feet. “I have to go.”

Steve follows him down the hall to Stane’s office. Tony shoves the door open and walks in without knocking. Stane is sitting at his desk talking on the phone. Tony walks over and presses the button to disconnect the call. Steve stays back near the doorway, folds his arms across his chest and puts on his best menacing face.

“Tony, what-”

“What the fuck is the Jericho doing in Gulmira?”

Stane’s face goes blank. He rises slowly and walks around the desk to where Tony is standing. He places an arm around Tony’s shoulder; Steve uncrosses his arms and clenches his fists but stays where he’s standing.

“Tony, Tony, Tony, you’re 21 now, you can’t still be this naive.”

“Fuck you, Obie. I’m still waiting on my birthday present, by the way.”

“Consider this it. I did this to keep your company safe.”

“How is double-dealing going to keep anyone safe?”

“Stark Industries is a _weapons manufacturing_ company. You think one little press conference is going to change that?”

Tony shrugs off Stane’s arm and glares at him. “No. I’m going to change that.” He turns and storms out of the office.

Steve lingers just long enough to see an ominous look cross Stane’s face and then follows Tony.

Back at the mansion, he watches as Tony steps into the suit.

“You’re not gonna try and stop me?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope. I know what it’s like to be a part of a fight that’s bigger than just you and me. Go. Be safe. Kick ass.”

“I could make a suit for you too, you know. You could come with.”

“Oh no. Thanks, but no. My track record with flying isn’t exactly the greatest. You need boots on the ground, though, I’m your guy,” he adds with a smile.

“You’re my guy for a lot more’n that,” Tony says as he presses a quick kiss into the corner of Steve’s mouth before the faceplate flips down and he takes off.

Steve forces himself to remain calm as he watches Tony fly into the distance. He’s seen Tony flying it, and he’s seen the suit’s specs, so he knows what it’s capable of. But he still can’t help but feel a pang of worry about Tony going back to a war zone.

He flicks through the channels on TV idly, trying to distract himself, but of course he ends up on a news channel. There are reports of military activity in the Gulmira area, and then the news breaks that a military jet was downed nearby. He feels his stomach tighten at the thought and dials Rhodey’s number.

“Steve. Hi.” Rhodey sounds busy.

“Uh, hi. Everything alright there?”

“Bit busy right now. I’ve got Tony on the other line.” 

Relief washes over him at that, but it fades quickly. “Why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Hey, Steve, I gotta go. Sorry man. I need to keep your stupid boyfriend from getting himself shot out of the sky.”

“What?!” Steve shouts into the phone, but the line has already gone dead.

Fuck!

His gut reaction is to go grab his shield, though that won’t really be of any use right now. He does it anyway, just because holding it makes him feel calmer. He wonders when he became such a “mother hen.” During the war he’d watch men in his unit head out into battle all the time and he didn’t get so worked up about it. But this is different, of course. The only person then who comes to Tony in terms of how important they are to him was Bucky.

Bucky, whom he had watched fall to his death.

“JARVIS, where is Tony now?”

“I thought you’d never ask, sir,” JARVIS replies and a projection of a map appears on one of the smart windows. A little red dot is zooming across the map. “The military jets are no longer in pursuit of Sir. I would recommend sending First Lieutenant Rhodes a gift basket. He seems particularly fond of artisan cheeses.”

“Yeah, sure. Order something.” Steve isn’t really listening. He’s just glad to hear Tony isn’t in imminent danger anymore. “Hey JARVIS, patch me through to Tony please, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey dumpling. Jealous I’m getting all the action?”

It’s a weight off his chest to hear Tony making jokes. “Come home in one piece and we’ll see about that.”

Tony does come home in one piece (not counting the bullet holes in the suit), and Steve comes to realize that “I’m glad you’re not dead” sex is now a thing that happens in his life.

***

Steve is at his desk at SI two days later when he gets a call from Tony asking him to come to his office. When he gets there, Tony and Agent Coulson are leaning over the screen in the meeting table.

“Hi. What’s going on?”

“Good afternoon, Captain. Our analysts have put together more of the data recovered from Camp LeHigh and I believe it would be of great interest to you.”

Steve walks around the table to stand next to Tony. Tony leans back into his chest briefly before turning his focus back to the screen. There are dozens of newspaper articles and photos, some still in black and white and others clearly fairly recent. Howard’s obituary flashes by briefly.

“The written documentation was pretty patchy,” Coulson explains, “but from what we can piece together, he’s been operating since the second World War.”

“How?”

“They put him in cryo-stasis between missions.”

“And he’s the one who killed Tony’s parents?”

Coulson nods.

“Where do we find this ‘Winter Soldier’ guy?” Tony asks. There’s murder in his eyes.

“That we don’t know. The last record of him shows he was headed to a mission in Bucharest just the day before we took his handlers into custody.”

“So he’s probably on the lam?”

Coulson nods again. “There’s no record of him after that, so it’s likely.”

Tony looks at Steve. “Wanna tag along to Bucharest?”

“Eastern Europe is nice this time of year, I’m told.”

They don’t make it to Romania then, though.

“There’s more,” Coulson continues and they both turn to look at him again. “There is also a significant amount of data relating to Obadiah Stane.”

“What does Obie have to do with this?”

“There are strong indications that Mr. Stane is tied to Hydra.”

“What the fuuuuuck,” Tony exhales.

“There is documentation that shows that Mr. Stane was commissioned by Hydra to effect the development of the Jericho missile.”

Steve recalls the day Stane had brought Tony the concept for the missile, and the phone conversation he had overheard afterwards about watering seeds and “hydration”. He feels his fingers tense around the edge of his chair.

“Because if you use the Jericho on something other than a mountain, you can do a whole lot of damage really quickly.”

Tony looks over at him, then buries his head in his arms with a groan. After a moment, he hops to his feet. “I’m going back to the house to finish fixing the suit, and when Obie gets back from his trip to California, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

Steve isn’t even sure whether Tony is speaking rhetorically at this point. He watches Tony leave the room, then turns to Coulson. “I’d like to take a look at that data on the Winter Soldier.”

“Of course, Captain,” Coulson replies and leads him to his office.

***

The house is quiet when Steve arrives home. Eerily quiet. JARVIS doesn’t greet him and it’s about four degrees warmer than it should be. He feels the hairs at the back of his neck bristle and checks the command panel. JARVIS is offline.

Which means something has happened.

Tony.

He rushes down to the workshop and finds his partner slumped over on the floor, broken glass all around him. Dummy is hovering just behind him.

“Tony!” He slips a hand under Tony’s head and his dark eyes flutter open.

“Obie. He took it.” He lifts a hand listlessly to point towards his chest, where Steve recognizes the old arc reactor, to one Pepper had helped him switch out and had had a display case built for.

“He’s headed for SI. He’s gonna go after Pepper.” With Steve’s help, Tony scrambles to his feet. “I sent her there to check on something for me, and now he’s gonna kill her because of it. We have to stop him.”

Their eyes meet and Steve nods in acknowledgement. “Suit up. Call Rhodey - you’re gonna need clear skies. I’ll grab the shield and the uniform and meet you there.”


	13. Chapter 13

He’s speeding along FDR Drive when he spots them. A giant metal suit has Tony in its grasp, and Stane’s voice booming from it declares “For years I’ve been holding you up” before dropping Tony to the ground like a toy and smashing its foot into his chest. “And nothing’s gonna stand in my way.”

Steve sees Stane toss Tony into a bus and jumps off his motorcycle.

A missile launcher comes up out of the suit’s shoulder and fires at Tony, but Steve leaps in its path, shield held high. The missile hits Stane’s suit, knocking him back in the explosion.

“I am,” Steve growls. “We both are.” Tony is hovering just behind Steve.

“Well isn’t this heart-warming,” Stane chuckles, his voice rife with disdain. “Two boys pretending to be heroes. We’ll see how far that gets you.” Stane’s suit lifts off as Tony streaks towards him and Steve watches as the suits climb higher and higher into the sky.

He hooks the shield onto the motorcycle’s handlebars and speeds to the Stark Industries campus, where he finds Pepper and Coulson, along with a unit of other agents, in the hall that houses development.

“Pepper! You’re okay?” He rushes over and gives her arm a fond squeeze.

“Yeah, Steve, I’m okay. Stane got away, though. Is Tony okay? I couldn’t reach him.”

Steve points up to the sky, where Stane’s larger suit is hurtling towards them at an alarming speed. “Get cover!” he shouts to the agents, lifting the shield in front of himself and Pepper just as Stane crashes into the window. Shards of glass spray all around them.

The agents all fire at the suit, but the bullets just bounce off it. Stane returns fire, taking down three of the agents before Tony swoops down and puts himself between Stane and the agents.

“Hold your fire!” Coulson calls.

“Tony, Tony, Tony. Thought a bit of ice would stop me, did you?” Stane raises his gun arm and aims it directly at Tony. He’s too far away for Steve to get to him in time, and the rounds hit Tony square in the chest. The suit looks like it’s already taken quite a beating, and the force of Stane’s fire is enough to knock Tony backwards. He raises a hand and shoots a blast from his repulsor at Stane just as Steve reaches Tony. 

“My suit’s running out of power,” Tony hisses to Steve quietly.

Stane just laughs. “But we know it can stop your little boytoy.” He opens fire on Steve this time, who ducks behind his shield. He angles it to deflect the bullets back at Stane, but the heavy armor doesn’t take any damage from it. Stane stomps over and grabs Steve by his shield arm just before he engages his thrusters and takes off.

Steve feels panic start to well inside him as they climb higher and higher. The air is getting colder and thinner. He tries to land a hit on Stane’s suit with the shield’s edge, but he can’t get free enough. His lungs are starting to constrict.

That’s when he sees Tony streaking up below them and decides to take the chance. He launches himself at the neck of Stane’s suit, where he sees an exposed cable line, and pulls it out. “This looks important.”

Stane’s suit is a staggering behemoth, and it might trump Tony’s in firepower and mass, but it pays for that with decreased mobility. It also lacks the technical finesse of Tony’s Mark II, which leaves none of its vital systems exposed. The helmet goes black and Steve feels them start to lose altitude. Stane lets out an agonized scream as he kicks Steve away. The force of the kick knocks the breath out of him and then he realizes he’s falling.

He’s at least half a mile above the earth, and directly over the East River. Shit.

He rolls into freefall position automatically, his arms and legs spread out wide to slow his fall. Tony finally reaches him and grabs him around the waist. 

“Need a lift?” Tony grins, but the worry is evident in his voice.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

The repulsors are flickering, but they make it back to the roof before the suit gives out.

“This reactor doesn’t have that kind of power,” Tony says, clutching at his chest.

That’s when the roof starts to crumble and Stane emerges from below them. The helmet is gone and the suit is opened up. He grabs Tony, pulling off his helmet before chucking him at the wall.

He crushes the helmet as if it were made of paper.

Steve tosses the shield at Stane’s firing arm and it slices through the cable in the elbow joint. Stane roars in anger, his shots going wide.

“You may have taken out my targeting system, Blondie, but I’ll still get you. But first, I’m gonna make you watch me kill Tony.”

All of his guns are firing, and they’re all aimed at Tony except one, which is hitting close enough to Steve to force him to duck behind his shield. He tries to move after Stane when a sharp pain sears through him as one of the bullets catches him in the calf. Stane walks over to Tony and lifts him, and Steve can hear the suit crunching under the force of Stane’s grip.

Tony groans in agony, then shouts “Flares!” before hundreds of little flares go off all around him and Stane. Stane’s suit stops firing and Steve sprints towards them. One of the flares catches Stane in the face and he recoils in agony, dropping Tony, who hits his head, hard, as he falls. Tony fires one last repulsor blast at the knee of Stane’s suit before his own reactor goes black and he falls backwards. The blast seems to have taken out the leg of Stane’s suit, which sways from side to side.

Steve takes off towards Stane at a sprint and gathers himself to leap at him as Stane raises his gun arm. That’s when Steve feels another bullet tear through him, this time in his abdomen. He comes down hard on his injured leg. Pain rolls through his entire body as another bullet hits him in the shoulder of his shield arm. He clutches at the darkening spot on the white stripe of his uniform where the blood is seeping through.

Tony was right. Some more armoring would have been good.

Stane’s ominous laughter booms through Steve’s entire body, echoes from the surrounding buildings. “Not so super anymore, are you, ‘Captain’? Now,” he says, lumbering over to where Tony is lying unmoving, “where was I? Oh yes, I was gonna kill this little shit.”

“Divert power to the chest,” Stane says, and the reactor in the center of his chest grows brighter and brighter. 

A beam of light shoots out from it and Tony manages to roll away just in time, grunting in pain as he hits against the wall of the roof. Stane turns to follow Tony’s movement, the beam still flaring out of his chest. That’s when Steve leaps out, holding his shield up to deflect the beam back at Stane. He lands on his injured leg, but blinks back against the pain, holding steady as the beam burns through Stane’s suit. The light of the reactor is blinding as Stane teeters on the remaining leg before falling backwards off the roof of the building. Steve watches as the suit plummets, the light growing brighter, until it hits the ground and the reactor shoots a gigantic beam of light into the clouds. A clap of thunder rolls through the air. 

When the light fades, all that remains of Obadiah Stane is a scorched suit of metal.

Steve rushes over to Tony, who’s lying sprawled on his back. The light in his chest is barely flickering and his eyes are closed.

“Tony, babe, you gotta wake up.” He clutches at the suit, trying to will Tony’s eyes open. “Please. Please, I need you.”

With a loud gasp, Tony comes to. His eyes dart around before settling on Steve. “Hey you.” A weak smile crosses his face, then he sputters out a cough. “Obie?”

“It’s done.”

His eyes droop closed again. “Okay. Okay.”

***

There’s wild speculation in the press the next day about what happened, so Pepper calls for a press conference. Agent Coulson pushes cards with a prepared statement into Tony’s hands, but he has that spark in his eye that Steve knows means he’s got entirely different plans.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he whispers to Steve under his breath just before they walk out into the press room.

“Ready if you are.”

Tony flashes a grin at him and winks as he steps backwards through the door into the mob of flashbulbs and microphones. 

“Baby, I was born ready.” 

He turns to the crowd with his best press smile and raises his hands in two peace signs. He steps up to the podium, holding the index cards from Coulson in front of him. Steve stands next to him on his left, Rhodey on his right. Tony starts to read from the cards, then pauses. 

“Do you really expect us to believe the bodyguard story?” one of the reporters interjects. “And the other guy - a Captain America-cosplaying vigilante? Really?”

“Hey, I don’t make this stuff up, that’s your job.”

“Just give us the truth.”

“You want the truth?” Tony points at the reporter with the index cards, then tosses them casually over his shoulder. “Can you handle it?”

That earns him a laugh from the crowd. “Yes!” a voice in the back calls.

“The truth is,” Tony says, leaning into the microphone, “I am Iron Man. And Steve is Captain America.”

***

“Mid-Credits Scene”

Tony has been back from Afghanistan for a few weeks and he’s thrown himself into his work, so Steve decides to take one of the motorcycles out for a spin on a lazy Sunday. He’s reading an email from an art gallery owner interested in his work as he wanders down to the garage and nearly drops his phone when he sees his boyfriend floating up near the ceiling.

Well, not really floating; there are what look like rocket packs on his feet and he seems to be controlling his direction - poorly - with similar devices on his hands. Dummy is tracking his every movement with a fire extinguisher.

“Oh hey!” Tony calls down to him. “Look what I made!”

He looks like a Labrador who just found a tennis ball.

Steve leans against the Maserati and folds his arms, an amused smile on his face. “Jetpack shoes?”

Tony wobbles a few times, then floats down to the ground and crosses the garage to him. “Well, it’s part of a larger design. And don’t knock jetpack shoes, that’s how I got out of that cave, after all.”

Steve palms his face to hide a laugh. “I told you. I said it. Back in Boston. That there’d be the right time for jetpack shoes. And this is pretty much the best use for them.” 

“ _Plus_ , I’ll finally be able to get things off the high shelves!”

He wraps his arms around Tony and holds him tightly, not wanting to let go ever again.

After a moment, Tony pulls away just far enough to look at him with wide eyes. “Wait, does that mean we can get married now?” 

Steve smiles. “Yeah, Tony, it means we can get married now.” He kisses him softly before adding in a mock-serious tone “But no jetpack boots at the wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it! Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!  
> Thanks again to [orbingarrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow/pseuds/orbingarrow), who deserves at least 12% of the credit ;-)  
> Stay tuned for more one-offs and the sequel, which will see these two silly boys chasing the Winter Soldier around the globe.


End file.
